Shadow Government
by Quiet2885
Summary: Futuristic AU. Unemployment is high, the streets are violent, and the people are beginning to panic. Trapped in a cult-like community, Christine only knows that the Spirit keeps her safe from the madness on the inside and the outside. But when the young son of a Senator reenters her life, she will discover just how much power the Spirit has over her—and the entire country.
1. Chapter 1

**I've decided to go ahead and start posting this. It's a little different, but it's also the type of story I love to write, somewhat plot-heavy and suspenseful. It takes place in the near future (more because I needed to create a certain type of society than for technological or sci-fi reasons), and I hope it's a fun read. **

**Currently, this story is not beta-ed. While I shouldn't run into many grammar or spelling problems, there is one area of expertise that I wouldn't mind having some help with. If you've ever worked on a political campaign and have a great understanding of the inner workings or good information that would be hard to get from a Wikipedia article, feel free to send me a private message. **

**Disclaimer: **_**I do not own **_**The Phantom of the Opera**_**. All characters and themes belong to ALW and Gaston Leroux.**_

**Enjoy! :)**

_**Present Day**_

The fate of the country changed in a single moment.

It changed when Jennifer Henderson made her decision at 5:13 AM on a cold Saturday morning in February, two days after Valentine's Day. Still wearing a pair of black yoga pants and an oversized New England Patriots sweatshirt, she stared down at her sleeping husband, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth.

_I can't stand this anymore. I really, really can't. I'm tired of you. Maybe I even hate you. _

She packed her clothes and toiletries into a black leather suitcase, hurling them in as fast as her perfectionist tendencies would allow. The big stuff would be moved later—and soon. She'd be damned if he got her grand piano or the thousands of dollars worth of equipment in the exercise room. She rubbed a hand over her face, and her fingers brushed against the tips of her nostril. At least there was no way in hell he was getting the nose job back. The thought almost made her laugh out loud. _Mrs. Henderson, the divorce court orders that you have surgery to get your old nose back. Of course, your husband will be performing the operation. Hahaha. _

Finding a notepad with Dalmatian spots in the corners, she jotted a quick message. This was no time to write a novel.

_Dear Craig,_

_I'm sorry, but I can't do this anymore. There's someone else and has been for awhile. You should be with someone better than me. You know that I've always been a mess. I'm sorry for any pain I've caused. _

_Jenny_

_P.S. Cuddles is with me. I know you never liked her._

With the dog carrier in one hand, and a suitcase in the other, Jenny took a deep breath. The Pomeranian yipped from her carrier at a passing car, and Jenny shushed her. She tiptoed down the stairs and out the front door, a cold breeze blowing her short blonde hair. Without a glance back at the enormous three-story home, she climbed into her car, started the engine , and drove away.

Craig Henderson found the letter at 6:45. After reading it twice under the light of a solitary lamp, he balled it up in his hands as silent tears rolled down his cheeks. Maybe he'd always known it was coming. _But Jenny…how the hell could you do this to me?_ _After everything I've done for you?_ _Everything we've been through? _He went through the house and kicked every object that reminded him of her, from the two thousand dollar elliptical to the silver dog food bowl for that annoying squeaking animal. At least she'd taken Cuddles. Stupid excuse for a dog.

And then he got mindlessly drunk for the next few days. Wine bottles littered the house, and he ignored the tsks of his Russian housekeeper as she picked them up and dropped them into a black trash bag. The bartender at his closest pub would stare at him with sympathy and then cut him off by midnight. The world became a hazy blur, the alcohol numbing the pain just enough to keep him from finding the nearest bridge.

Eventually his vacation time ended, though, and it was time to go back to work. Not that he was ready to do so, but the scheduled surgery was way too high priority and no one could take his place. He wouldn't let anyone take his place. At least he could be _someone's _hero again.

The sounds of the hospital flooded his ears, intercoms and beeps and depressed murmurs. He could feel the eyes of his surgical team on him as he approached the pair of blue double doors.

"How was your time off, Dr. Henderson?"

"Do anything fun?"

"How's Jenny? You two still training for that marathon?"

He answered the questions with single syllables.

"Are you feeling well?" asked a pretty anesthesiologist that he'd known for over ten years. She was eyeing him closely, and he looked away from her. "I know there's been a bug going around."

"Feeling just fine," he curtly replied. "Ready to get to work."

_I can get through this. I'm just fine. I'm not letting that bitch ruin this for me. _

Male. Severe congenital defect. And one of the youngest face transplant candidates ever. Local Channel 4 had already done a feel-good story about it. CNN was going to be following up.

"_You're sure you can fix this?" the mother had asked behind the privacy of closed doors. "Please say you can. I know some doctors thought he was too young, but you can do this, right? I have a trust fund and will pay whatever insurance doesn't cover. Because if you can't do it…I…I might just snap. You don't know what it's like, being stuck inside all day trying to home school him. I don't have any friends left. I…I can't take it anymore. I'm going to snap. I mean it."_

_I'm going to snap. Snap!_

The room tilted for a moment, but Craig Henderson took a deep breath and entered, the rest of his team behind him. In a swirl of an awful mess of a face, he could only hear the letter, repeated in her voice, in his exhausted mind: _I'm sorry, but I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry, but I can't do this. I'm sorry, but I can't._

_I'm sorry. _

* * *

**Twelve years later….**

_Green icky mush. _

Raoul stared down at his sandwich and wrinkled his nose. "Eww." He wrapped it back up and stuffed it into the crinkled brown lunch sack with a disappointed sigh.

"What's that?" asked a red-headed boy, standing behind him as they waited in the gymnasium for the first day of school to begin. Raoul knew he was in the fifth grade and a bit of a bully. Not the kind who beat you up and took your lunch money, but the really annoying kind who just wouldn't shut up.

"Turkey and avocado," he muttered. "I told my mom not to make it anymore, so Enid must have made it."

"Who's Enid?"

"The housekeeper."

"You have a housekeeper?" the boy asked. "You rich or something?"

"Um. I don't know." He really didn't want to talk about it. The first day of third grade was shaping up to be bad enough without bringing his famous dad into it.

"Hey," the boy continued to Raoul's displeasure. "I know who you are! You're the Senator's kid. Yeah…I saw you on the TV. My dad said he'd cut off his right hand before voting for your dad."

Raoul shifted uncomfortably. "Whatever." He ignored the boy. Enid hadn't even put in chips or a cookie or an apple. All he had was this sandwich. Stupid sandwich. Stupid fifth-grader. Stupid third grade. Stupid—

"You can have mine. I don't like peanut butter."

He turned to his right, not having noticed that a girl was now standing right beside him. Her strawberry blonde hair was done up into a messy braid that went down her back. Freckles dotted her pale nose, and she was missing one of her front teeth.

"How can you not like peanut butter?" he asked once he was over his surprise.

The girl blushed, but her blue eyes twinkled. "I dunno. Just don't. It's sticky and icky!" She giggled at her own rhyme.

Raoul couldn't help but smile. "Do you like avocado?"

"Um…I dunno. I never really tried it."

They traded, and she opened his sandwich and bit into it. "Mmm!" One of the monitors frowned at her for eating outside of lunchtime, and she quickly wrapped up the sandwich and put it back into the bag. "What is…a Sen-a-tor?" she asked after swallowing.

Before Raoul could reply, the fifth-grader interrupted. "He goes to Washington and makes all the laws. And my dad says they do nothing but raise taxes!" He turned to Raoul. "Why don't they stop raising taxes?"

"What's a taxes?" asked the girl.

"Don't you know anything? It's when you pay money for nothing!"

"Just ignore him," muttered Raoul with a glare. "My name is Raoul. What's yours?"

"Christine," she replied. "I'm in second grade!"

"I'm in third. That means we'll have recess together."

"Good because I don't wanna play with the kindergarteners again!"

"Yeah," he agreed. "They throw up a lot."

"Well, I'm glad I'm not stuck with you guys," said the fifth-grader, obviously annoyed that he'd been excluded. "Your dad is a tax raiser."

Raoul didn't tell him that the feeling was mutual.

It was almost a match made in heaven, and third grade wasn't so terrible after all. He and Christine played together many times that year. She was the first girl he'd met that didn't have cooties, although sometimes it was still hard to convince the other boys of this. Raoul loved how the sun shined off her hair and how her pale face got a pinkish glow when she was happy. She was a little shy and quiet sometimes, but when she laughed it was almost musical. At the winter assembly, he even got to hear her sing _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas_, and it became obvious just how talented his new best friend was.

Although they usually didn't get together outside of school, he did bring her over to his house a few times. Christine told him that it was 'ginormous' and 'really fun'. She loved rolling around on the floor with his Golden Retriever and letting him lick her face with his giant, wet tongue. Then, in the springtime, they would jump and wrestle around on his trampoline until his mother stepped outside and told them to calm down or they were going to break their necks.

Over the summer, he didn't see much of Christine. He was sent off to camp with other boys whose dads apparently did important things. Most of them went to private boarding schools, but Raoul's dad always said that "it sent an important message to the people" for him to attend public school. Raoul wasn't quite sure what that meant. As long as he had Christine to play with, he didn't really care.

Fourth grade arrived, and Raoul had grown a whole inch. He felt a little more confident as he walked through the familiar halls of his elementary school. Only one more grade to go and then he would be the oldest! His good mood vanished the second he saw Christine.

Even before they spoke, he noticed that something was different. She murmured a soft "hello" and silently ate beside him at lunchtime. The familiar gleam was gone from her eyes. It was still summer, but she was wearing a plain white turtle neck and a long jean skirt. Raoul shifted uncomfortably as he eyed her.

"Is everything okay, Christine?"

"Oh…yeah," she murmured, staring down at her folded hands.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Just…well…my mom died. She had cancer." A tear formed at the corner of her eyes, and she brushed it away with the back of her hand.

"That's awful. I'm really, really sorry."

"Thanks. And then my dad…he…"

"He what?" Raoul pressed as a heavy feeling formed in his stomach.

"He changed _everything_."

"What do you mean?"

"I dunno. Never mind." She looked up, eyes dry now. "Wanna trade your ham for tuna?"

"Uh, sure." He didn't like tuna, but he wanted to make her happy again. And, for a moment, she smiled.

Christine was never quite the same, and he felt a distance form between them over the next few months. She would laugh, but her eyes held a sadness that he was still too young to understand. Then, one cold day in November, she came up to him at lunchtime. Fresh tears were in the corners of her blue eyes; it was the first time that he'd ever really wanted to hug a girl. "Raoul." She was wearing a plaid skirt that reached her ankles, hair combed into her famous long braid. "My dad says we're going away."

"Oh no! You're moving?" he replied with a groan. He'd had a friend do that to him in first grade.

"Yeah. Daddy says we have to give up the world."

"What?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. But I'm leaving. Today is my last day. I don't know what to do…."

"Oh…." His head drooped. "Well…maybe we can…. Do you have e-mail?"

She shook her head.

"Well…maybe…." His voice tapered off, and his palms faced helplessly outwards. To his surprise, he felt her arms wrap tightly wrap around his shoulders. She kissed his cheek.

"Find me someday," she whispered into his ear. "No matter what happens, find me." Before he could hug her back, Christine ran away, leaving a few wet stains on his navy polo shirt.

Very upset, Raoul went home and told his father everything. Ethan Chagny finally agreed to give her dad a call and find out where they were moving, but Raoul was unable to tell what had happened based on the brief one-sided conversation. That night, though, he put his ear to the door of his parents' bedroom and heard them speak to each other in low voices.

"But they seemed like a decent family," said his mother. "I can't believe it."

"The country is changing, and people are afraid," replied his father. "Things like this will continue to happen, especially to trusting people who are down on their luck. Her father lost his job, his wife, and his pride, and he took his only option. I've seen more of it over the last few years. People giving up on life like this."

"But it's no better than a cult!"

"They don't see it that way, Judy. They see it as their salvation. Let's just hope that none of these wackos ever get another power to influence the government."

"How sad," she murmured. "That poor, poor little girl. So many awful things could happen to her…."

"I know, honey. But the authorities will keep an eye out. They know what goes on."

"Still. It's so sad."

Raoul barely slept that night, eyes wide as he lay on his pillow and tried to figure it all out. Why had someone taken his best friend away? What bad things were going to happen to Christine? Could he save her? This wasn't fair at all!

"What's no better than a cult? What do you mean by cult? What happened to Christine?"

His father was reading the morning paper but started as Raoul practically jumped into the kitchen and bombarded him with questions. Ethan dropped the paper on the table, right into his plate of scrambled eggs, and frowned. "What have I told you about eavesdropping?" Raoul lowered his head. His father sighed, and his expression softened. "I guess you're old enough, aren't you? A cult is…it's when a bad person or group of people trick other people into believing and doing whatever they want."

"How do they do that?"

"By telling lies and making false promises, usually about going to heaven. Things like that." Raoul squinted. "Like what if I told you, if you clean the house, I'll give you a hundred dollars and take you to Disney World. "

Raoul hesitated. "Would you really?"

His dad smiled sadly. "No. But you almost believed it. That's what a cult does. Except a lot worse."

"Oh." Raoul paused, suddenly feeling sick. "Well, what's going to happen to Christine?"

"I don't know. Maybe she'll be okay. I'm sure her father will keep her safe. I would…try to make some new friends, though."

"But I don't want a new friend. I want Christine. Can't you bring her back? You make laws!"

"It's not that simple. I…don't have that kind of authority, son. I'm sorry."

Raoul sat down and stared at the table, suddenly feeling very helpless. "This really…sucks." His older brother said that all the time, and his mother always told him that it wasn't dignified language. But, at that moment, it was the only phrase that summed up the situation.

His father rested a hand on his shoulder. "Well, hey. Maybe we should take that trip to Disney World soon. We've been talking about it, right? And I won't even make you clean the house."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Yeah. That'd be cool."

It was a very brief distraction. Still, Raoul never forgot about the little blonde girl. Sometimes he'd look for her in the crowds, but she was simply gone. As the awkwardness and excitement of adolescence came upon him, Christine slowly became a ghost of his childhood. It would be thirteen years before he saw her again.


	2. Chapter 2

Wow. I'm so happy to see everyone enjoying this. I thought I'd get this first real chapter up pretty quickly. For those who were wondering, my goal is to update about every two weeks, three weeks if things ever get hectic. Life is a little busy but in a good way, and I think this spring should give me plenty of time to write.

**Feedback is always appreciated! Enjoy!**

_**March 2038**_

"Good evening, Christine."

"Good evening, Spirit." As always, she bowed her head slightly in a show of respect. The glow from the one dim overhead lamp cast the small room in eerie shadows, all the while setting her in a spotlight. It was the only time when she was singled out. Special.

"_You are the star in this world, Christine. The only star."_

"_Oh, I can't be, I….What about Cameron?"_

"_Only you."_

The walls were covered with thick navy blue curtains that hung to the carpet of the same color, creating a cave-like atmosphere. It was always like stepping into another world. The Spirit's world. A place of purity and goodness where even the air was crisper and cleaner. She was so very blessed to be there.

"How are you tonight?"

"I'm fine," she replied, chin tilted upward. Naturally, the Spirit spoke from heaven and so she was sometimes awkward while trying to direct her body language toward him.

"You are lying. Something troubles you?"

Christine inwardly cringed; the Spirit could always tell when something was wrong. She needed to try harder to keep her thoughts pure. _And now she had lied as well!_ "Oh, Spirit, forgive me for not being honest. But it's really not all that important…."

"Come now. Sit, Christine. Your lovely voice is always strained when you are troubled by the outside. There are days when I wish to isolate you from all those unworthy imbeciles. Let us deal with it."

She slowly sat on the single cushioned chair in the room that she guessed had been placed there solely for her use, her fingers digging into the silver embroidery. Christine had certainly never seen anyone else tread into the sacred space, and she didn't think the Spirit spoke to anyone else. Except of course the great and honorable Cameron Lourdes. Cameron had been the one to announce the Spirit's presence to the community nearly five years ago, citing it as a great blessing that God had sent one of His very own angels down to Earth to assist in ensuring that the community remained a secure and just place.

Murmurs of skepticism had disappeared within a month as the miracles occurred. An old man witnessed a pot of petunias levitating. Then dozens of people began to see objects rising into the air or hear holy voices singing from their rose gardens or find notes mysteriously appear on their dressers with instructions on how to please Cameron or the Spirit. The miracles were now only an occasional occurrence, but everyone knew that the Spirit still watched over them.

No one ever saw the Spirit, but the Spirit saw _everything_. He knew when people were not acting righteously. And then they were swiftly punished. Or, on rarer occasions, they disappeared and were never seen again—a cruel banishing.

It was the Spirit who had put all her lingering childhood doubts to rest. She had been frequently punished during her youth for insolence and doubt. And rightfully so, it seemed! The Spirit was proof of Cameron's assurances that the community was chosen by God. She had begged her dying father for forgiveness after all those years of casting secret glares toward him for bringing her to that place. But he had been right! They were _Chosen_!

Still, there was that rare occasion where something would bring back her doubts. Something would not feel right, would tug at her conscience and make her stomach turn. And this was the reason for her somber mood that evening.

She nervously tugged on a string of her long, blonde hair. "It's just…." _Oh, Spirit, please do not be angry with me. _"Joseph Buquet didn't mean anything by what he said at the meeting," she nearly rambled, a quiver in her voice. "He's really a very nice old man. And Buquet just called Cameron a grouchy badger after Cameron banned birthday celebrations. It was a silly joke. But I heard rumors that Mr. Buquet might disappear. So…I just…I'm hoping for mercy for him. Please?"

She shivered in her thin blue cotton dress and hoped she hadn't crossed the line. If the Spirit became angry, she would have to fall to her knees and beg forgiveness. _Why must she always put herself in these dangerous situations?_

"He spoke against Cameron," the Spirit finally replied. "That is a punishable crime."

"I know. He shouldn't have done that. I'm sure he'll never, ever do it again, though. And you could grant mercy…."

"My job is not to give mercy. It is justice. You know what Cameron says."

"Yes," she quickly replied. "Yes, of course. The Spirit grants Earthly judgment. And then God will determine Heaven or Hell. Yes, I understand. But—"

"It is not your place to worry over such things, my dear. Your focus should be on your music alone."

_He_ always said that to her. In fact, her voice had gotten her the initial meeting with the Spirit two years ago. The first time she had stepped into that curtained room, she had been trembling violently, standing there and waiting for she didn't know what. And then, as she hugged her pale arms to her chest, wearing her nicest lavender dress with the little yellow embroidered roses, the Voice had spoken to her. Just hearing its beauty proved to her that the Spirit was from heaven. Nothing else could sound so divine.

Hearing him still sent chills up her spine and tingles through her skin. The only thing she had to offer this great being was her voice. So far, it had been enough. Until she did something stupid as she was right now.

"Christine?" The Spirit broke into her thoughts. "You will not worry over this?"

She looked down at the carpet. "Buquet will disappear now, won't he?" Joseph had been kind to her since her arrival. When she had been a frightened eight-year-old, he had even given her a chocolate bar.

"Those who speak against the community are unwelcome." His tone was much less patient.

She rapidly nodded. "I understand, Spirit. You are the great giver of justice. I don't question you. I promise! Forgive me! Please forgive me! I am only so honored that you choose to speak to me."

She could have sworn that she heard a sigh. _But spirits didn't sigh, did they?_ "It is fine, dear girl. I would not expect you to understand my workings. Now, is there anything else that concerns you?"

She swallowed. "Just one thing."

"Yes?"

"I am going to be twenty-one soon. Father always thought I should be married by now, but I—my lessons. Will I—will I still visit you after I'm wed?" The thought made her ill. She barely knew most of the young men in the community and yet her marriage could be arranged at any time, especially with her father deceased and unable to speak for her best interests. She was at the mercy of the local council. Once wed, she would be expected to immediately begin bearing children, and she felt ready for none of it.

A long silence passed, and she continued to feel her stomach turn in apprehension.

"Your father did not realize that you have many more important duties. And Cameron will accept this. You have nothing to fear."

She felt a weight taken from her shoulders. Losing the Spirit would destroy her; she had nothing else. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you, Spirit."

"Now is that all?"

"Yes."

"Shall we begin?"

"Oh, yes!" Her eyes glistened with tears of delight as she looked to the heavens.

She was so very blessed.

* * *

_"So remember to look for Verma's Veggies at your local supermarket. Verma's non-genetically engineered veggies—one hundred percent natural!" _The radio announcer paused._ "And now for the news. National unemployment dropped by point two percent, which makes the current rate twenty-seven point six percent. The White House hailed this as a sign that the economy was improving. Meanwhile, riots continued today in St. Louis over the murder of Jonathan Ramos. According to witnesses, he was gunned down by police during the labor protests that occurred in the manufacturing district. Authorities say that he was armed, but those involved in the protests claim he was only holding a sign. That's the seventy-second death during the St. Louis protests this year."_

Another pause. There was a touch of exhaustion in the man's voice as he continued.

"_Rioting today continued throughout San Francisco over installment of the eight o'clock curfew. It is the twelfth major city to install the early curfew. As crime rates continue to rise, government officials feel they have little choice. And now for a startling report out of Los Angeles…."_

Raoul turned down the radio with a sigh and glanced at the passenger's seat. "I wish they'd actually play some music. So…what should we do tonight?"

"Curfew is down to nine here," Anthony Seung muttered. His baseball cap was pulled down almost over his dark eyes, and his black hair hung down to his chin, framing his face. "What the hell can we do?"

"Board games?" joked Raoul.

"Ugh. More like I'm bored games. Maybe video games. _Dungeon Master Six_ is out in 3-D. You can smell the city burning while you fight."

"You can smell the city burning when you leave your house. Meh, we'll figure something out." Raoul yearned for the days when they could stay out past ten and grab a movie and a pizza...maybe chat with some girls or just drive around the city. The bars were also certainly losing a lot of business these days. You could get a special permit to stay out later, but it had to be for work, special circumstances—or you had to know people in high places. Then again, Raoul did know people in high places, but the thought of asking for a permit to stay out and get a supreme pizza sounded kind of stupid.

"Hey. How's Phillip's campaign going?"

Raoul shrugged. "Going okay. It's only March. Too early to say much."

"But he thinks he has a shot?"

"If he didn't, he wouldn't be running."

For the most part, Raoul avoided politics. Unlike his older brother, he hadn't seen the death of his father as a higher calling to save the country. He remembered being seventeen, celebrating the end of senior year with water balloons, when he'd been called to the office. One look at his mother's tear-stained, pale face and he'd felt his heart plunge. _"Raoul…at the rally…your father…." _

"Well, there's something you see every day now!" Anthony's alarmed voice broke into his thoughts. Raoul turned to the sidewalk corner on the one-way street where his friend was pointing. The nearby streetlights were out, and he squinted in the dim evening lighting. A skinny girl with short, black hair was clearly being harassed by several teenagers in jeans and t-shirts. She was older, probably around eighteen or nineteen, but very outnumbered. They were circling around her and laughing, the biggest one making occasional grabs at her yellow plastic handbag. It wasn't an uncommon sight in the cities these days, where half the store windows were boarded up and the dark streets were filled with potholes.

"Well, crap," Raoul muttered, slowing his car and pulling it to the side. The girl had taken a swing at one of the guys and missed; they began to push her back and forth between themselves with amused grins. The largest finally managed to grab her handbag and was flipping through it, probably looking for cash that she didn't have.

"Should we do something?" Anthony asked.

But Raoul had already started honking his horn and flashing his headlights, startling the group away from her. He rolled down his window halfway. "Get out of here!" he yelled. "I just called the cops."

That threat was no longer as powerful as it used to be; the police only showed up half the time for random acts of street violence. Still, Raoul had a car. It was a cheaper model, a silver Honda Civic, that he used to drive around the crime ridden cities, but you still had to be upper middle class to afford most vehicles. He also had the clothing and general appearance of someone at the higher end of the income scale. For all they knew, he did have certain connections to the authorities. They would either run away or, if they had guns, try to rob him. Checking to make sure his car doors were locked, Raoul was hoping for the former.

The larger one hesitated. "Why don't you get the hell outta here and mind your own business, rich boy?!"

Raoul's heart was racing, but he kept a firm expression. "Police are going to be here in five minutes." He then placed his hand on the horn and held it there for over five seconds. Several porch lights snapped on in nearby apartment buildings.

"The bitch doesn't have any cash on her anyway," said one of the other guys. "Screw it! Let's get out of here."

The larger one continued to glare at Raoul. After a second, he spit on the ground beside Raoul's front tire and then turned to walk away. The others sauntered away behind him, and the gang disappeared around the corner. Flattened up against the brick wall now, the girl stared after them. When they were gone, she slouched in relief. After closing her eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, she smoothed out her white blouse and jeans. "Thanks," she murmured, chest heaving.

"No problem," said Raoul. "Do you need a ride anywhere?"

"Nah. I…." She eyed him and then glanced at her surroundings, as if trying to side which was less dangerous. "I should be okay."

"How far do you have to walk?"

"About three miles. But it's okay. I've done it before."

Raoul gently smiled. "I promise I'll get you there. We're cool. But if you'd rather not, I get it. Stay safe tonight." He started to roll up his window.

"Wait!" She exhaled loudly. "All right. I'll take you up on it. Thanks." With a trembling hand, she opened the back door and climbed inside. "Thanks," she repeated in a quiet voice. "I'm Megan. Or Meg."

"Raoul," he replied.

"Anthony," said his friend.

"You can just go straight and then turn left on Oak Drive. Ugh! I shouldn't even be out here now, I know. But my mom was sick, and I had to go to the pharmacy before she got worse."

"I get it," said Raoul. "Happy to give you a hand."

They drove in silence and passed a couple of campaign posters that had been taped to the side of a dilapidated building. The rain and wind from the previous week had already torn and faded them. "I wonder if Cameron von Crazy is going to get anyone else in," muttered Anthony.

"I hope not," Raoul replied. "But Phillip is thinking he might."

Raoul could see Meg's brow furrow in the rearview mirror as she frowned. She seemed to feel the same way about the guy as they did…as most people on the outside did. The problem was—a lot more people were becoming part of the _inside_. It had seemed relatively harmless at one time, but more people were joining as the country deteriorated.

The major cities were growing pools of theft and corruption, and the federal government was using most of its waning resources to try and bring peace and stability to them. The current president was, from what Raoul and Phillip could tell, a decent man who had been handed a terrible hand of cards from the beginning. He was doing what he could to hold it together, but, without using excessive military force, his options were becoming limited. Only wealthy and gated districts, areas where Raoul was lucky enough to grow up, were safe these days.

The western less populated areas of the country had been increasingly filled with groups of survivalists—people hoarding food, supplies and probably weapons in preparation for the end of the country. Some of them were looking forward to the anarchy—when they could go back to the Wild West atmosphere and do what they pleased, whether that was building a cattle ranch or taking drugs. In the north, people had begun to trickle into Canada, so much so that the Canadian authorities were on the verge of sending in forces to control the situation.

And then there was Cameron Lourdes' expanding sect with its strict and frighteningly antiquated rules. A group of about a hundred or so had marked the meager beginnings of the… _Community _in a small southern town. Its growth had been limited until about five years ago, and most people thought that simply coincided with the rapid increases in economic turmoil and violence since that time. Suddenly, thousands began to join. Entire counties were being engulfed by the movement, and smaller sects had popped up throughout the United States. The rumors were that Cameron was encouraging all members to move to a centralized location, power consolidation obviously. He promised them food, jobs, and a ticket into heaven. He promised that they wouldn't have to think for themselves anymore.

"Is Cameron really that charismatic?" asked Anthony. "He looks like a warped Santa Claus to me. I just don't get the appeal."

"I've heard…other things go on there," murmured Meg, running a hand through her pixie cut. She was kind of cute, Raoul thought. "And that's what makes people join."

"Not this again," muttered Raoul. He'd heard these same rumors from Phillip. They annoyed him for some reason.

"Like what?" asked Anthony.

Meg hesitated. "That people have seen real miracles happen. And also that there's some…force there. Like you always feel like you're being watched. Especially if you go to the main district where Cameron is at. But even in the other ones-someone is _always_ watching. The Spirit, I think they call it."

"That's creepy," said Anthony. "But these people are all brainwashed, right? They probably imagine this stuff."

"No," said Meg. "People from the outside who sneak in out of curiosity say they get a weird vibe in there, like someone is watching them. And then they got kicked out really fast. One guy said he was terrified-said Cameron's guys threatened his life. But no one can ever prove that they're doing anything illegal. Everyone says that they want to be there."

Anthony turned around to face her with a curious smirk. "And how do you know so much about this, girlie?"

"Well…." Meg paused and looked at her folded hands as though she was considering whether to reveal something. "My mom used to be a part of it-a member. I lived with my aunt then. But after my mom ran away from them, I came to live with her. She…needed a lot of help getting used to things."

"Wow," Raoul murmured. "Good for her. Most people never get away. Still, I don't think there's some sort of…of creepy spirit thing there. It's just a bunch of crazies."

"Maybe. But how does your brother think we get people away from the group?" asked Anthony.

"Like you would think," Raoul replied with a shrug. "Get people working again. Stop the crime and street violence. Stop people from being so afraid of everything, right? Then they won't need to join some crazy cult_." Like Christine did…._

After a few moments, there was an uncomfortable silence, and Raoul turned up the radio to break it.

"_Okay, Holly. We saw the stock market plunge today. The Dow went down about ten percent within a couple of minutes this afternoon before rebounding. What is going on?"_

"_We've been seeing more of this within the last few months,"_ said the female announcer. _"These little flash crashes. Little glitches in the system, you might say. I think a lot of people feel that the government isn't monitoring the situation well enough." _

"_Yes. And it really does shake confidence in the financial systems. This is definitely not what the American people need right now." _

"There's my apartment," said Meg.

* * *

"Poppy! Poppy! Poppy, I want tricks."

"You want tricks, Abby? You want to see magic?"

The four-year-old bounced up and down on her grandfather's knee, her brown curls bobbing up and down with her. Cameron smiled at his adorable granddaughter with her rosy cheeks and bright green eyes that matched her velvet dress.

Cameron spoke to the air, "Will you indulge her, my friend?"

Within a couple of seconds, a black umbrella that had been leaning against the wall unfolded and opened all by itself, before levitating off the ground. Abby squealed in delight. "Magic!" Suddenly, a little lime green and yellow love bird appeared out from under it, twittering and flapping its wings. "Ooh! Can we keep that?"

"Now, Abby, you didn't take very good care of your goldfish."

"I'll take care of the birdy, Poppy! I promise! Please?"

"We'll see. It's time for you to sleep now." The umbrella snapped shut, and the bird vanished beneath it. Abby frowned and then yawned. Cameron placed her on the floor and took her chubby hand, leading her out of the office and to her nanny in the hallway. The old woman, wearing a grey dress that buttoned up to just below her chin, silently nodded and led her away. The nanny was half-deaf, which Cameron preferred while he was dealing with classified business. He returned to his office and sat down in a wooden chair large enough for three people, now facing his most prized employee—a shadow more or less, clad in black from shoes to leather gloves to mask to hat.

"Thank you, Erik," said Cameron with a close-lipped smile. "I believe she'll nap now."

"I trust that the entertainment of that child is not the only reason you called me here. I was in the middle of something rather important."

"No." Cameron cleared his throat as that unholy voice rang in his ears. "Of course not. I did want a brief meeting with you. Just to…to assess where we stand. You see, this is all going a bit slower than expected. I thought I'd at least have someone in the Senate by now. I have two in the House, but they're not even my core believers."

"You have dozens within the local governments and several state officials."

"It is not enough."

"You clearly said you wanted this to progress cleanly. Didn't you? Yes? No? If you want fast, you have to deal with a bit more chaos and blood. Haven't you witnessed a revolution, Mr. Lourdes? I have. Is that what you want?"

"No," Cameron slowly replied, rubbing his chin. "Not yet. Let's stick with our original plan. You're right. I am being impatient. I must trust in Him. If I am rash, I will be led to my doom."

"I will move the situation along. I will increase our control. And keep your…little code of conduct in mind as I am able."

"How so?"

"It is rather elaborate, and I am still working through the details. Let us just say that a very simple program can easily corrupt a very unstable and complex system. You will know more later."

Cameron shifted. "I think I would like to know now."

"We do not always get what we want, do we?"

Cameron could feel the red heat rise to his rounded cheeks. He hated this. He was in charge, had always been in charge, and yet this devil creature had gained an incredible amount of power over the last few years. Yet, it was the only way. This…this half-man had done more for the community's status than anyone else ever could. Cameron took a deep breath and prayed for calm. "Watch yourself," he said in a low voice. "You act like you're in charge here. I hired _you_."

"And your little scheme would fall apart without me," the Spirit replied, folding his hands behind his back. "You leading the masses with some ridiculous mumbo jumbo. At least I entertain them. What do you promise?"

"Eternal salvation. Something _you_ would never understand."

The Spirit chuckled at this, and it sent shivers down Cameron's spine. Still, he forced himself to sit up straight and hold his ground.

"Two matters that I have to discuss with you now."

"What do you want?" asked Cameron.

"My salary. Or are you going to give me a check for salvation this month?"

"Ah. No. I did a wire transfer this morning. Always money with you, isn't it? You might be a soulless mercenary, Erik. But I believe in this. I believe I can turn this country around with goodness."

"Then why, pray tell, are you using me to do it?"

Cameron hesitated and looked at his wrinkled hands; it _was_ a point of shame. "Because…let us face it. The most virtuous could-would not do what you do. You are a cold means to a beautifully warm ends. And, once I have part of this country under my control, I will not use you anymore. I will rule with righteousness and just love!" He pounded his fist on the desk.

The Spirit didn't flinch at the sound. "Of course you will." For the first time, the masked figure seemed to shift to a less forward and aggressive position, and Cameron examined him with interest. "There is one more matter in addition to my salary…."

"Yes?"

"I order that Christine Daae remain unwed. If I catch any man behaving inappropriately with her, they will face swift punishment."

Cameron hesitated. He'd always found the relationship between them odd. Still, he'd left the harmless arrangement alone to appease the Spirit. "She is of marrying age now…."

"And?"

"And there is a certain structure to the community that must be maintained."

"_And?_" His tone had a dangerous edge.

Cameron shrugged. "Fine. She's off limits for now. What do I care?" He paused. "And what do you care? You don't want her in that manner, do you? I mean, has she even seen you?" Cameron winced; that would certainly cause the girl to have a heart attack. "Not that it couldn't be arranged, I suppose, although I would have to completely isolate her so that she didn't tell others of your...reality. Christine, while a bit difficult during her youth, is now a good, obedient young woman. Maybe I should credit you for that."

"She will be the face and the voice of the community, Cameron. Think of that. The women will want to be her. The men will want her. Of course, she will remain pure and untouchable. She will soften the image as we continue to make political gains. We will need that when we can no longer afford to keep our hands so clean."

"Interesting idea," murmured Cameron. "Yes. She will soften our image. I like your thinking. I knew I was right to grab you. Oh yes. From the second one of my associates told me about your work abroad, I knew." He lowered his voice to a whisper. " Speaking of softening our image, Buquet is…?"

"To the community, he has gone to judgment. To the outside, he passed of a heart attack. He had only one living relative, and I doubt they will inquire."

Cameron nodded. "He had to go, no question. He knew far too much and had become volatile. But we will have to be careful. The authorities are just looking for an excuse. Yet they don't want another Waco on their hands. Or like what happened with the Mother Earth group three years ago. Not that those tree-worshipping heretics didn't have it coming…."

"It would be a thousand times worse," the Spirit replied. "I see conditions on the outside. People are on the edge. It will take very little to push them off the cliff."

"I know," Cameron replied, the corners of his calm smile poking out from beneath his long beard. "It is good to be alive right now." He closed his eyes. "So very good…."

"Indeed. Is that it?"

"Yes. For now."

The Spirit disappeared within a moment, dodging into a door that was hidden beneath a crimson curtain with yellow fringe on the ends, a secret hallway used for his comings and goings to God knew where. Cameron watched the gently swaying curtain with a frown, the silence settling in around him. He would have to keep an eye on his mercenary. If the creature's motives were only money, then all would be fine. But Cameron always had that disturbing feeling that he was using the Devil to do the work of God. It made him uneasy, but he saw little way out of it at this point.

Still, the Spirit was the single individual who had the power to destroy everything that Cameron Lourdes had worked for.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks so much for all your kind comments. This chapter is still a bit more introductory. Since this world is new to everyone, it takes a little fleshing out. The next chapter will start us toward the action. It's a little hard for me to say how long the story will be. More than 20 chapters but less than 40 is my only guess right now.

**Read and Review!**

_The Outside._

With the Spirit on her mind, she often forgot about the place that lay outside the confines of the community. That was good, Christine knew. The outside was suffering for its sins and would soon collapse into a pile of smoldering rubble, Cameron said. She was lucky to no longer be a part of it.

Keeping her head down and her eyes to the ground, she overhead two men talking to each other after worship services. She sat in the back row with the widows and other unmarried women who didn't have families, but there was a brief moment when everyone was leaving that she walked near the unmarried men from the other side.

"You were almost robbed?" she heard one man ask another.

"At gunpoint. It's truly a nightmare out _there_. The end times, you might say. They are paying for their sloth and greed. Without Cameron and the Spirit, we would be lost."

"We would be. God be with you."

"And you."

Only the men left the community on rare occasions; most people didn't want to leave at all. A chain link fence surrounded the perimeters, and, according to rumor, certain parts of it were electrified. Cameron wanted stronger reinforcements but, because the community kept expanding, it was necessary to have a barrier that could continuously be removed and rebuilt. Guards were stationed near the entrances at all times to "keep out the influences and dangers of the World."

Christine shuddered and held her book closer_. I wonder what the World looks like now._ She forced the unwanted thought away and glanced up, now noticing that several other women were subtly watching her. They knew she was special. While all the other women remained silent during the ceremonies each year, Christine had now been permitted to sing two times. She would sing this year as well, and the community realized that she was somehow protected from the normal rules, under the wing of higher powers.

It had been nearly two years ago. She had first sung during the annual ceremony after her father had begged and pleaded with Cameron, his health failing quickly. She could only imagine their conversation. _Please give my unhappy, ungrateful daughter a chance at finding a husband. She has a beautiful voice, and that's the only way a man will want her when I'm gone. Who else would want such a somber girl? _

For whatever reason, Cameron agreed to the request. Trembling, she'd slowly walked to the front of the massive assembly hall, in front of hundreds of people, and sung one of the few songs of worship that were allowed within the community. That evening, Cameron had requested her presence in his office. And he had said: "My dear girl. Your sweet voice has greatly impressed the Spirit. He requests to speak with you alone."

She had fainted right on Cameron's gaping bear rug and awoken sometime later in her father's home.

"I'm frightened," she'd told him. "I can't do this. I can't talk to the Spirit." At that time, a part of her had even questioned if the Spirit was real. She had never witnessed one of the famous miracles.

Her father had taken her clammy hand into his icy fingers and stared up at her with glossed over eyes. "I've always wanted what is best for you," he'd murmured. "That is why I brought us here. Don't you see? Now we know that the Lord is on our side. You are blessed, dear girl. It is more than I ever could have hoped for. I can die knowing that you are favored." He'd passed away two days later. Her father's lungs had never been strong, and a final battle with pneumonia ripped him away from her.

And how could she refuse? From then on, she visited the Spirit once a week for her voice lesson.

After morning services, Christine walked several blocks to her housing section with her guardian at her side. Each townhouse consisted of four units- identical one-story red, brick homes surrounded by white picket fences that were solely for decoration. In every yard lay a vegetable garden on the left and a flower garden on the right, both somewhat barren at this time of year. Oddly, a few butterflies still hovered around the dead stalks and weeds. Grey concrete steps led to black doors with silver knockers. One window was situated in the front, always covered by blinds to ensure that no one ever caught a glimpse of the female occupants. The private back of the house had a larger picture window, although the view was somewhat obscured by a red stone wall.

It was the widows' district, the location where Christine had been assigned after her father died. She was one of the few unmarried girls without families who now lived with an older woman until marriage. To her relief, she would be staying with Mrs. Valerius a bit longer than anticipated.

It had been a week since her last lesson, and Mrs. Valerius was twittering on about possible matches. "The Smith boy has an eye on you. I think he will provide well; his father was very close to Cameron, you know? The Larson boy is very polite, a bit odd in how he won't look you in the eye, but still very godly. Or—"

"Um," Christine gently interrupted.

"Oh, listen to me going on and on. I sound just like my mother not letting you have a word in. What are your thoughts, Christine?"

"Well, I have something to tell you," she began, settling in at the round kitchen table. Mrs. Valerius began fixing Earl Grey tea on the stove. Christine had grown fond of waking to the black kettle whistling in the mornings. Despite missing her father, she always felt very safe in the cozy home. "The Spirit says that I won't be married soon. I am to have other duties first."

Mrs. Valerius turned to face her with wide eyes, a strand of grey hair falling out of her bun and tumbling over the side of her cheek. "Oh, I knew you were special," she murmured. "Your father knew that as well. The Spirit must be very, very pleased with you."

"I hope so. But…you don't mind that you will continue to watch over me?"

"Heavens no. Really, you're a help to me now with my arthritis. I certainly can't garden like I used to. Did you know that I used to be able to change a tire all by myself back when….Oh, I shouldn't speak about that. See? Even my mind is not right sometimes."

Her grey-green eyes had a distant look as she turned back to the stove to prepare oatmeal. Sometimes she seemed sad, but Christine never inquired into the older woman's past. That time—the outside- was to be forgotten. They were to be grateful for the present and nothing but hopeful for the future. But there was no past.

Christine had mourned the past often in her youth, for years upon years. How could her father bring her to this cold, somber place that had no close friends for slumber parties or classrooms with teachers that made her giggle or television shows with silly talking animals or…anything at all that was fun? Her days were spent at services, doing chores, listening to her elders talk about things that either frightened or bored her, or, her favorite activity, sitting outside on the top step leading to the apartment and daydreaming.

She'd daydreamed about all the things she missed, swinging at the playground with her mother or jumping on the trampoline with that little blond boy. When she could no longer remember the past so well, Christine began making up stories in her head. A fairy witch in a beautiful white ball gown, just like the one in that movie with Dorothy and Toto, would fly down in a bubble and take her away.

In her youth, she had been unable to hide these feelings. She had pouted in public and given short, snide responses when asked questions by her father or the elders. As punishment, she had often been forced to sit in a dark closet for days or, on one horrible occasion, an entire week. It had contained nothing but a cot and a tiny bathroom. Chicken broth, saltine crackers, and water had been slipped inside through a small slot three times a day.

Her father had painfully gripped her by the shoulders when she'd emerged after that horrid week, her face tear-stained and pale. "Now you will be a good girl?" he'd asked, bending toward her with a frantic expression. "Please be a good girl, Christine! I can't stand to see you cry, but you must be good or they will continue to correct you."

But she wasn't really a _good_ girl. Oh, she had learned to control herself and keep her thoughts private. She had learned to force a smile and speak politely to the elders. But anger and discontent had still resided in her heart until the Spirit had arrived.

Curling up in an armchair with a crocheted blanket and cup of tea, she thought about her good fortune. What other duties did the Spirit want her to have? What could someone like her have to offer Him? Her stomach had been in knots over the last few days just thinking about it.

Mrs. Valerius walked through the living area with a black feather duster, cleaning the furniture as she softly hummed a tune. It wasn't an approved song, Christine knew, because it was unfamiliar to her. She'd been in the community for so long that she no longer remembered most of the music from the outside.

"Somewhere Over the Rainbow." That was one. From the Outside.

Christine frowned and silently began to chant the mantra that she had learned while lying in the dark closet as a terrified ten-year-old. _I must forget the outside; only evil lurks there. I must forget the outside; only evil lurks there. I must forget….Oh, Spirit, help me forget! _

* * *

"All you people do is have meetings! Hours and hours of staring across tables and talking about how horrible everything is. You never solve anything. Yes, well—I'm right here. Call me. Don't just—Now that's the kind of tone that is taking this country down. Yeah…. Same to you." He hurled the cell phone onto the counter. "Jerk."

Phillip had been on the phone most of the morning, pacing from his office and through the hallway as his voice rose in volume. Raoul glanced up as his brother stormed into the kitchen, wearing a pressed grey suit and a striped green and white tie, a perfect contrast to Raoul's jeans and plain white t-shirt. They had their own opinions as to how people of their class should dress in this type of world, Phillip wanting to set a good example and Raoul thinking it better to blend in as much as possible.

"What's up?" asked Raoul, not knowing if he wanted the answer.

"Look at this," said Phillip in disgust, throwing a newspaper on the table. The front headline read: "Cameron Lourdes. The Answer to Our Problems? A Look Inside the Community." The picture below the headline featured several smiling community members dressed in their old-fashioned clothing.

"He got to the papers?"

"Yep. Isn't that a laugh?"

"Okay. So he gets an endorsement…might have a few more guys in the government. It's still not a lot, right?"

"A mentally unstable person is amassing a lot of power, Raoul. It says a lot about where things are heading." Phillip paused. "Why don't you try to start some phone banks or hand out some flyers or something? Get out and talk to people about this."

"Yeah. I'll do that." Raoul pretended to be distracted by the newspaper.

They were at their mother's home, which she had kept after their father died. He and Phillip both spent a lot of time there, usually seeing to her needs and making sure she got out of the house once in awhile. Judy spent a lot of the time sleeping or watching soap operas these days, never really the same since that awful day, smiling with sad eyes. Their father had left enough money in his passing, so at least that was never a problem. Phillip had a small law firm that he'd been managing, usually trying to help struggling people out of complex debts. He also had a new girl by his side every month, saying he was far too busy to settle into a serious relationship. This month it was Sara Lee, like the cheesecake.

Raoul had his own nearby apartment. Depending on how he was feeling and whether his mom wanted company, he switched back and forth. There was some safety in staying together. Raoul was fairly fearless, but even he felt his heart jump upon being awakened by distant gunshots or yelling during the night. Still, the apartment was looking like a better and better escape as Phillip continued to rant that morning.

"If people your age had just stepped up in the last five years, maybe the world would be a different place—" _On and on and on._

Maybe Raoul had become somewhat of a defeatist in the last year or so. But, really, the state of the country was far over his head. Whatever events had set this catastrophe into motion had happened, and he wasn't sure anything could really be fixed at this point. Sometimes he thought about following Anthony to Korea within the next year, maybe taking their poor mother with him and giving her a change of scenery. A lot of his other wealthier friends had managed to leave the country. Phillip would be furious, but-

Still, one thing had been tugging at the back of his mind all week—one mission he still wanted to try to accomplish. Since his youth, he'd thought about _her_, even while dating many pretty and interesting girls. Maybe he just wanted to _know_.

"Where are you going?" asked Phillip as Raoul slipped on a jacket.

"Out."

"You know, you could at least pretend to care," snapped Phillip. "I'm over here working my ass off."

"Yeah, well, I'm going to see this girl I met last week. Megan. Her mom used to be part of the community. Maybe she'll know something useful, right?"

"Really?" asked Phillip, his tone softening. "That's interesting. Yeah. Talk to her and get back to me. We need to hit this guy where it hurts." He smacked his fist into his palm.

"Right."

Raoul breathed a sigh of relief as he left and inhaled the…polluted air; it smelled like a mix of rotting eggs and burning rubber. His gated area was at least visually nicer; the streets were paved and the few businesses were open, a couple of cafes and fancier restaurants. A few men were playing at the golf course down the road, and there was the soft thud of a tennis ball being hit back and forth in the distance. He hopped into his car and drove out of the little haven, soon entering the dilapidated areas of the city.

When he arrived at his destination, Raoul straightened his shirt and then knocked on a door with chipped black paint. After a couple of seconds, Meg answered, wearing a white robe over a pair of grey pajama pants and a black spaghetti strap shirt. She blinked in surprise and glanced down at herself as though embarrassed. "Raoul?"

"Hi. I'm sorry to show up like this, but I couldn't find your number."

"Oh. That's okay. Except I'm not exactly dressed yet. Uh, can I help you?"

"You look fine. I was wondering how your mom was doing."

Meg's face brightened. "Much better. The infection is gone. She's a little tired but doing well. Thanks again for your help."

"No problem. That's great. I was…also wondering if I could talk to her about some stuff. About her past, I mean. If that's not appropriate, I get it."

Meg's smiled faded, and she shuffled her feet. "What do you want to ask her about?"

"Several things. My brother is involved with government, and they're trying to make sure Cameron isn't getting too dangerous. So maybe she could help us understand some things?"

Meg hesitated and then nodded. "Oh. Well, that's all for a good cause. So…yeah, I can ask her." She disappeared for about three minutes, and Raoul waited with his hands in his coat pockets, always keeping an eye over his shoulder in case any street gangs were plotting their revenge. She returned and shrugged. "Mom said she doesn't know anything. I don't think she feels like talking about it. I'm sorry. I mean, I could try to persuade her into it."

"Oh. No, that's okay." Raoul sighed. "Thanks anyway." He smiled so she wouldn't feel bad. "Well, if you're ever up for it, we should still hang out sometime."

"Yeah, definitely. I don't have many friends around here." She reached over and grabbed a steno pad, jotting something down with a black pen. "Here's my number."

"Thanks." Raoul started to turn around. _It was worth a shot._ "There's one more thing."

"Yeah?"

"I wanted to know if your mom had ever seen this…this person that I used to know. At the community. It's a long shot, but I thought I'd check."

"Can you give me a description of them?"

"Um. She would be around my age now, I guess. About eight when she first joined. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Um…freckles. Her name was Christine Daae." He hadn't said her name out loud for a long time; it sounded strange.

"Sure. Why not? Give me a sec." She dashed away again. This time, Raoul stood there for only a minute. Meg returned with a curious expression. "She…says to come in."

His heart jumped with cautious hope. Raoul slowly entered, glancing around the worn two-room apartment. From the blanket and pillow folded up on the arm, he guessed that someone's bed was the brown sofa in the living room. A grey and white tabby cat was curled up on the other arm; it raised its head and blinked at him before going back to sleep. The walls were yellowed, and the paint was peeling. A woman in her mid- forties was reclining in a green armchair, her shoulder-length brown hair very grey at the roots. A colorful serape was pulled up to her waist, and her mouth was drawn into a thin line. Raoul found himself intimidated; she didn't look all that happy to have him there.

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Giry. I'm Raoul Chagny." He held out his hand, and she gave it a limp shake.

"You can call me Caroline. Cari if you're tired." At least she had a little humor in her. Caroline turned to her daughter. "Meg, leave us a bit to talk."

"But—"

"Please, Meg. Go make sure that Cookie has food and water. Then make yourself some lunch."

Meg rolled her eyes. "Fine." She walked back toward the kitchen, peeking over shoulder several times.

"I didn't mind her listening," said Raoul.

"I did," said Caroline. She glanced down at herself. "I must look a mess. I haven't left the house for two weeks. These bugs seem to get worse and worse."

"You're fine," said Raoul, settling at the edge of the sofa. "I'm the one barging into your house, right? I'm just glad you're feeling better."

"Hm. Can you believe I once looked like that?" Caroline pointed to a picture in a gold frame on the wall. A beautiful woman with long blonde hair was dressed in a pair of black leotards, hands on her hips as she gave a sexy, close-lipped smile for the camera.

"Wow. Were you a dancer?"

"For the New York City Ballet company. Back before…." She didn't finish, but he knew what she meant. Before New York had figuratively crumbled. "Well, anyway. I won't bore you. You want to know about that girl…."

"I'd like to know about you as well," Raoul replied. "Your life sounds interesting. But only if you want to tell me." He meant it. There was something forlornly mysterious about this woman.

"I'm sure you do want to know," she murmured with a frown. "How did that pretty young thing turn into this?" She gestured toward herself in disgust. "I'm only getting into any of it because you saved my daughter and maybe me, and I'm grateful for that. It's hard to find good people in the world these days." She paused and stared at her picture again; she appeared bitter for a moment, as though angry that her youth had been taken.

"Like I said, tell me only what you want."

"My life didn't start out all that interesting," she began. "I had what you'd call the ideal childhood. My dad made a lot in the computer industry, and my parents seemed happy enough, though they worked a lot. We had family vacations in Florida, a pool in the back-all of that. They were able to afford to send me to the best schools, and I got to live my dream. I got to dance all day long and not worry a bit about money. I was pretty spoiled, huh?"

"That sounds nice," said Raoul. "I mean, you weren't spoiled. Things were just better back then, right?"

"I guess. I also met a man who was doing well for himself. Alex. He'd been interning at my father's company and asked me to dinner one night." Cari smiled distantly. "He was the tall, dark, and handsome type. A little hard to talk to sometimes, but…Meg has his eyes. We got married and eventually had our daughter. Things were great for a while; we were very wealthy, and then…well, things started to fall apart. For everyone. We tried to get by, but, when Meg was about seven, we lost our jobs and our house. We fought all the time; neither of us was very good at coping after living such privileged lives. Alex couldn't take it. He…drove to the seashore with a gun and…well, you know. I spent most nights after that crying and chain smoking."

"I'm so sorry," Raoul replied. He'd heard similar stories over the years.

"You're no stranger to tragedy either," she replied with a shrug. "Chagny. You look a lot like your dad. Terrible, terrible thing."

"It was…."

"Well, with Alex gone, I started to panic. I had this sweet little girl to take care of and absolutely no money. Dancers weren't being hired—at least not into positions that wouldn't involve me giving up my dignity. So I guess you could say I emotionally collapsed under it all. I wanted out. But I couldn't go the way my husband did, like others were doing." Caroline took a deep breath and glanced down. "So I…I gave Meg to my little sister; she was a teacher and still had work. And I joined the community."

"Why didn't you stay with your sister, too?"

"We didn't get along so well when we were younger. I was the glamorous dancer, and she was more of a bookworm. I trusted her with Meg, but….You know, I think I was looking for a complete mental escape. Especially after my parents died, I just couldn't cope."

"What was it like?" Raoul asked, trying not to judge her. "The community, I mean."

"It was…it was honestly kind of wonderful at first. These people fed me and clothed me-told me I would be one of the chosen ones now. I did simple chores to earn my keep with them, attended services and ceremonies frequently. The outside world was blocked off, so I couldn't hear anymore awful news stories about who was killing who. It was an escape into simplicity."

"You never brought Meg there, though?"

"No." Caroline paused and glanced to the side in thought. "I suppose, deep inside, I sensed a certain wrongness, especially where it came to the children. It was very strict. Only a narrow list of books and music were allowed. Limited education, especially for the girls. A large number of children are expected from a very traditional and arranged marriage. Very low tolerance for _anything_ outside of their rules. Still, I couldn't bring myself to leave. But I wouldn't bring my daughter there either."

"What made you finally escape?"

She didn't answer, staring down at her folded hands.

"Caroline?" he softly asked. "It's okay if you don't want to tell me."

"This is very embarrassing for me. It's the reason I didn't want Meg to listen. I like her to think that I heroically scaled the fences and ran off into the sunset, tossing off my long skirts in favor of a pair of jeans."

"I won't tell her," Raoul assured. "I promise."

"The truth is…I completely lost my mind."

"What?"

"While there, you might say I was promoted, as much as a single woman could have been. I was chosen to do chores and housework around Cameron's compound. It's a beautiful building, kind of Victorian or something. I was doing well enough there. But then, one day, I heard Cameron talking to someone while I was sweeping the floors. It was this-this voice."

"A voice? You mean another person?"

"No. Well, I don't know. But it wasn't just any voice. It was…it's so hard to put into words, but I'd never heard such a beautiful man's voice. I was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. I _had_ to know who was speaking. But when I opened the door, only Cameron was standing there in the middle of his office. He was furious over my intrusion. He kept screaming at me, 'What did you hear, Woman? What did you hear? Tell me what you heard!'"

"That must have been terrifying," said Raoul. "What a psycho."

"I told him that I hadn't heard anything, but I don't think he believed me. As you can guess, I was removed from my cleaning position. But then I suddenly had this feeling that I was being watched. The hummingbirds and bees and butterflies around my little garden—I felt like they were watching my every move. I would hear voices sometimes, right by my ear, singing or giggling, almost taunting me. But whenever I told someone, they said I must be possessed…or completely mad."

Raoul shifted his weight. "Maybe just being in that place caused you to become unstable."

"It's possible. But I felt like I was losing my mind." Cari looked up and weakly smiled, shame evident in her eyes. "I was finally taken away by several men, dragged from my home in the night. I was certain that I would be-that I might not see my daughter again."

"You thought they would kill you?" asked Raoul, aghast. "It's that kind of thing we need to stop. If you have proof, we can-"

"But they didn't," she interrupted. "They never said they would, and I have no proof. I was taken to Cameron, thrown to my knees at his feet. And…."

"And?"

"And he said that I was an ungodly woman. He said I deserved hell. But…he then said the Spirit had spoken on my behalf. I would only have to leave the community. I was banished, but I would see my daughter again." She closed her eyes and smiled. "Thank goodness for the Spirit."

"Wow. But you don't really…believe in that, do you?" he softly asked. "The Spirit, I mean."

"I don't know," she replied. "I don't know what I believe or think. I only know what I felt and heard. I simply try to get by these days."

"But maybe you just heard a man speaking that night?"

She shook her head and rubbed her right temple. "I don't know. I don't really want to talk about that anymore. It gives me a migraine when I think about it too much. You wanted to know about a girl?"

Raoul nodded and surrendered on the other part of the conversation. "Yes. A friend from awhile back. I don't even know if she was part of your group. She would have joined before you did. Christine. Daae." He held his breath.

"She was there," said Caroline. "I remember her being there when I arrived, living with her father. She had very pretty blue eyes."

"Was she…okay?" A lump had formed in his throat.

"I didn't speak to her very much; they lived a distance away from me, with the other families. She seemed sad sometimes. But I suppose she was fine in a sense."

"Thank you, Caroline. For letting me know all of this." He could tell she was starting to get tired, her head resting back into the chair. She appeared twenty years older than she was; the world had taken its toll on Caroline Giry. Raoul stood. "I'll let you rest now. I'm sure I'll see you around."

_Find me someday. No matter what happens, find me. _

He paused in his steps. "I have just one more question."

Caroline opened her eyes and uttered a weary, "Yes?"

"How hard is it to get in there?"

* * *

No personal cars were permitted within the community, but there was available transportation in case anyone needed to go somewhere not in walking distance. Cameron's compound was too far for her to walk alone during the dark evenings when she had her lesson. Young women were usually not allowed to be alone with a man who was not their husband, but an exception had been made for her as far as the male driver was concerned. The elderly man held the car door for her, the enormous building creating a shadow over them. It was both a home and a place of business, a stone mansion and an office complex that curved into a large semicircle. It was where the community had begun.

"Do you see Him?"

Outside of a polite "good evening," the driver rarely spoke to her. "Pardon me, Sir?" she asked in surprise.

"Do you see the Spirit?" He kept his voice low so that no one else could hear. His soft felt hat fell over his kind eyes.

"I…No. No, I don't. I don't think he can be seen."

"But you hear him?"

"Yes," she softly admitted.

He smiled and nearly clasped his hands together. "What does _he_ sound like? Is it glorious?"

"Oh, yes," she whispered. "Like listening to heaven."

"Do you think he will ever talk to me? I know that I am unworthy, but I would love to hear his voice."

Christine swallowed nervously. "Oh, Sir. I don't know. He is very mysterious in his workings, and I don't question him."

The man nodded. "Of course. I understand. You will put in a prayer for me with him?"

"Of course." Christine smiled. "Have a good evening."

With a deep breath, she escaped the odd conversation and ascended the stone stairs, entering the building through a glass double door. The carpeted halls were silent as always at this time of day. Occasionally, there was a distant voice, but she was generally the only one visible. Still, Christine knew deep down that she was being watched. She made her way into the special room at the far end of the left hall and shut the door tightly behind her. Immediately, that feeling of being part of the Spirit's world came upon her, sending goose bumps down her arms.

"Good evening, Christine." _He_ spoke to her immediately.

She smiled and let his tenor voice pour over her, closing her eyes in bliss. "Good evening, dear Spirit."

"You are in a better mood today."

"Yes." She'd forced the fate of Mr. Buquet from her mind. "But before we begin, I was asked to put in a prayer for Mr. Thomas. He thinks so much of you." A silence followed. "Is that…okay?"

"They all seek favor with me," he replied. "_Everyone _wants something."

She nodded. "Yes. Of course they would all like your blessing. Sometimes things are difficult, and they want hope. Maybe if you spoke to them as you do me, they would-"

"Only you are truly worthy, Christine," the Spirit harshly interrupted.

"And Cameron?"

"Yes," was his clipped reply.

"Is it…." She swallowed and wished her unholy curiosity would go away. "Is it possible to ever see you as well?"

"No."

"Not even as a light? Or a shadow?"

"It is time for your lesson, Christine. Your questions are becoming rather silly. What put these inquiries into your precious head?"

"Forgive me, Spirit. Yes. Let me sing for you now." After warming up, she sang the hymns that she would perform at the upcoming ceremony. It would be here in two weeks, and she could feel herself growing more and more nervous just thinking about all the eyes that would be upon her. No other woman would ever put herself under such scrutiny. Only the power of the Spirit would give her strength on that night, just as it had last year.

"You need confidence," he said when she was finished. "Your technique is fine, but I hear the quiver of fear in your voice. Let it go. You have done this twice before."

"There will be more people there. Every year, there are more. I'm still very nervous."

"I know, my beauty. But you will be fine. I will always be with you."

She nodded, swallowed, and looked at the floor. "Can I ask you one more thing before we begin again?"

"Yes?"

"My father…he forgives me?"

"Forgives you for what?"

"Oh, Spirit. Surely you know. I resisted him. I was not obedient. Really, I was a terrible daughter. I wanted out for so long because of the strict rules. I didn't understand!"

"And now?" the Spirit questioned in a strange tone.

"Now I believe with my entire heart and soul. You showed me the truth, and I will never be disobedient again. I will be good." There was a long silence, and Christine shifted her weight. "Spirit, are you there?"

Suddenly, she heard loud piano music, a beautiful legato cascade of chords that jolted her mind and caused her heart to jump into her throat. Clutching her arms to her chest, she listened with wide eyes as her heart pounded, nearly out of breath when it was over. The warm wave of sound was utterly amazing.

And new.

And…_unapproved_, as far as she knew.

As the notes continued to echo in her head, she stood there in the uncertain silence.

"Did you enjoy it?" finally asked the Spirit.

_What if it was a test of purity? _ "Will that music…be introduced and approved by Cameron soon?" she shakily asked.

"_No._ It is only for you, Christine."

"It makes me feel strange," she murmured. She would have liked to say that the Spirit's music made her feel purer and holier. But that simply wasn't true. It was as if a current of electricity had flown through her body and made her hair stand on end. "Is it…um…is it right to enjoy that music? Are you testing me, Spirit?"

"_Did _you enjoy it?" he repeated.

"I…." She was frozen and wide-eyed. If she said no, she would be a liar. And so she admitted the truth at the risk of punishment. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, I loved it."

"Good. You see, your mind must be on a higher level. You will have an important role in my vision, more important than that of anyone around you. And you must keep your mind open for that role."

"You mean pure?"

"I mean _open_."

She shook her head and raised her hands up toward him, palms out. "I don't understand. What do you mean by open? Please help me understand, Spirit!"

"Do not fret, my beauty. Let us begin again. You will understand when it is time."


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks again to everyone for all your support with this. I promise you'll see more of Erik soon. He's one of the more mysterious ones I've written in a while….

**Read and Review!**

"You are crazy."

"Are you in or out?"

"Out," said Anthony. "Jesus, Chagny. You want to be a badass, let's stay out past curfew and get drunk out of our minds. I'm not sneaking in there with Cameron's freaks. You're crazy." He leaned back in the chair across the table and took a sip of his steaming coffee.

They were sitting in a café within Raoul's neighborhood. The walls and floor were made of dark polished wood, and there were street signs from Europe posted all over the walls. He'd wanted to bring Meg there, give her a mini vacation from the crime and deprivation of her neighborhood. He was also trying to convince them to help with the new plan that had been forming in his mind over the last couple of days; however, he wasn't having much luck. Anthony thought he was out of his mind.

Raoul rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'll do it by myself. Unless…." He turned to Meg.

She cast her gaze toward the floor. "Um, I mean I'll help out. But, you know, after what my mom's been through, I'm not really sure I want to go in that place. What if the Spirit sees us?"

"Ugh. There is no spirit. It's a bunch of crazies."

Meg frowned. "Are you calling my mom crazy?"

"No," Raoul replied. "I'm sorry. Not crazy. But I just don't believe that some…magical god-like…_thing_ rules over that place. C'mon. Do you believe in it?"

"No," Meg replied with a sigh. "I mean, I don't believe that there's something supernatural there. But I think there _could_ be something that we're underestimating."

"Like what?" asked Anthony.

"I have no idea. Just a feeling from what I've heard." She shrugged. "So how exactly are you going to do this, Raoul? Are you going to go all Schwarzenegger and blast through the fences with a machine gun?"

"I wish. No, all I really want to do is take a look around. I want to see her, maybe talk to her a bit. If she's not happy or in danger or something, then I'll take action."

"Are you sure Phillip can't help?" asked Anthony. "Maybe he has connections to the police? Something better than this?"

"I don't want to take it there yet. When Phil gets involved in something, he kind of goes to the extreme. I want to see her; that's it."

"How's it going to work?" asked Meg. "Did my mom tell you anything useful?" There was a slight edge of bitterness in her voice, probably from being excluded from their conversations.

"She said there were two ways to get in. So, the first way would be to actually try to join the cult, but that's out the window. It would take a while for them to confirm me. Especially with my father and brother, they'd be extra suspicious. And they'd probably find some excuse to keep me away. I don't want to risk the scrutiny or wait for things to work out."

"Yeah," Meg said. "Plus, who'd want to be stuck in there for very long? No movies, television, good music…."

"Video games," chimed in Anthony. "Pizza. Beer."

"Certain naughty magazines," added Meg with a cheeky grin.

"Oh, God," said Anthony in an extra dramatic tone. He smacked his palm to his forehead. "If those people ever take over, someone get me out of the country or shoot me."

"Yeah, thanks you two. You're really helping here," Raoul muttered but smiled. It was good to have friends in this day and age, people you could relax and laugh with even as everything kind of went to hell. Meg especially had a great sense of humor, and he was grateful on several levels for having run into her that one evening. "Okay. So plan two—and it's going to have to happen fast. Every year, they have this massive ceremony. It's like the main event where they talk about how much better they are than everyone else."

"Oh, yeah. My mom told me about that," murmured Meg. "Members come from all over the country."

"Exactly. There'll be big crowds around, and it'll be easier to sneak in without their security catching on. Plus Christine would likely be there. According to Caroline, her father had kind of a close relationship with Cameron."

"So you're going to dress up like one of them and sneak in?" asked Anthony. "I don't know. Still seems kind of risky."

"Not really," Raoul replied. "The worse that would happen is I'd get yelled at and kicked out. They can't do anything to me."

"He's right," Meg agreed. "His brother is pretty high profile. If anything happened to Raoul, the community would be in a lot of trouble. The feds would probably like the excuse."

"I guess," said Anthony with a shrug. "All right, all right. I'll drive the getaway car when you're done doing what you have to do. Is that good enough?"

"Sounds great," Raoul replied. "I appreciate it."

"And I'll dress you up into a gentleman!" said Meg, clasping her hands together. "I guess there's not enough time to grow some facial hair. But definitely time for a fancy hat."

Raoul laughed. "Like one of those black top hats?"

"Probably more of a cute little cap."

"This is going to be more fun than I thought." Still, Raoul could feel the ache of anxiety and anticipation forming in his stomach. What if he were caught before he ever saw her? The community would keep him on a watch list forever, and Phillip would be furious over the fact that he had attracted attention to them both for no good reason. But Raoul wouldn't be able to leave the country unless he knew she was okay. He would always wonder. And, to be honest, he also wanted to see what all the fuss was about regarding Cameron and the community. Why had it become so much more powerful than all the other weird cults and movements that had popped up over the last couple of decades?

True to her word, Meg got him looking like one of Cameron's nutty followers. It wasn't really that hard—a pair of grey slacks, a dull light blue button-down shirt, a tan cap, and some dark brown leather boots.

"How do I look?" asked Raoul, arms out from his sides as he displayed his full costume. They were in the living area of his small apartment. He sure as heck wasn't going to risk Phillip or his poor mom walking in on this circus.

"Like you stepped out of 1930," Meg replied with a satisfied smile. "Nice."

"Anything else I should know?"

"Well, according to my mom, you have to be really careful about what you say. No cursing or talking about anything, you know, normal. Stay serious. Watch the people around you to see when they clap or pray."

"I got it," said Raoul. "Blend in."

"Don't worry; you have a wholesome look about you," said Anthony with a smirk as he leaned back into the plush couch. "You'll fit in."

"Thanks?"

Meg giggled.

As the day drew nearer, Raoul continued to question his plan. There were a couple of times that he nearly backed out, once after Caroline had claimed that people occasionally went missing from the community. She could never say whether they had just suffered her fate of banishment or…something worse. Still, it sent a shudder through him. Then he found a picture of him and Christine as kids, displaying the colorful treats they'd bought from an ice cream truck. The plan was back on.

It was about a two hundred mile drive to Cameron's main compound, which is where the ceremony would be held. Driving that distance was always a little hazardous. People along the highway would sometimes try to rob you. Dozens of homeless people were always standing on the side, holding up signs and trying to catch a ride. Then there were a few with the "Apocalypse is Upon Us! Repent!" signs in giant painted red letters. Even crazier were the people who tried to end their lives by jumping in front of vehicles; thankfully, that only happened a couple times a year.

"Good luck!" Meg exclaimed, giving him a one-armed hug as he and Anthony prepared to leave. "Tell the Spirit I said 'hi'".

"Will do," said Raoul, feeling as though a rock had settled in the pit of his stomach.

Right after merging onto the highway, they drove passed the people with signs and through a couple of near-ghost towns, places where the unemployment had become so bad that there was basically no way to survive. Occasionally, you might see some farmers working on their land, people who had found ways to sustain themselves, but they were few and far between. His dad had often mourned farming as a lost art. Otherwise, there were houses with the roofs caving in, and "Closed" signs on cracked store windows. They passed an empty playground where most of the swings were hanging on by one chain, the seats nothing but vertical pieces of rubber swaying in the breeze. A somber silence settled over the car.

_I need to get the hell out of here. _From Anthony's expression, Raoul guessed that he was thinking the same thing.

As they left any sign of civilization and neared their destination, Raoul noticed a slight increase of vehicles on the highway. An outline of a large structure was visible in the distance among the rolling grassy hills, surrounded by groves of oak trees. They turned off the highway and made their way down a side street and toward the rural areas. The towering mansion of a home was guarded by a chain link fence so long that it disappeared into the distance. It was obvious now that many smaller structures were also behind the barrier, an entire town maybe. Dozens of people were migrating toward the front of the gate, men dressed like Raoul and women in long solid colored dresses.

"Holy crap," muttered Anthony. He slowed down at the side of the road, keeping his distance from the craziness. "You sure you want to do this?"

Raoul felt his heartbeat quicken. "It's perfect," he said. "Cari was right. No one will notice me in this mess."

"Yeah, no one will notice if you disappear in this mess either. If anything happens to you, I get your car. The BMW."

"Deal," murmured Raoul. He took a few deep breaths and gathered his courage. "All right. Wait if you can. If anyone gets suspicious, go ahead and get out of here. I might be a couple of hours."

"Yeah, I brought some music."

_Nothing that bad can happen._ Still, just stepping out of the car, Raoul felt a strange sensation overtake him, similar to the feeling he'd get walking into a haunted house. The air was definitely fresher here, smelling of pine and the new blossoms of spring. A warm breeze brushed against his cheeks and rustled the leaves and the grass. Other than that and the occasional twitter of a bird, the place was strangely silent. It all seemed so removed from everything that he felt like he was stepping into a foreign country.

Raoul squared his shoulders and took confident steps toward the entrance, trying to mimic the stride of the men around him. The women and children followed behind, heads bowed slightly. To his dismay, he heard them taking names toward the front. "The Johnsons from Austin, Texas. The Smiths from Jacksonville, Florida. The Browns from Tulsa, Oklahoma." At least it was somewhat disorganized as they tried to rush people through. Anthony had gotten a little lost at one point, and so Raoul was arriving with the tardy members.

A man with his wife and eight, nine, no _ten_ children were in front of him. Raoul wished that the kids were screaming and running around to create a distraction, but they were surprisingly quiet and well-behaved. _All right. Time for another plan._ As Raoul and the family approached, he gritted his teeth and stepped in front of the smallest boy, subtly blocking him from the view of the guard at the front. "The Henson's from Tennessee," said the father. "There are twelve of us."

The guard nodded and checked them off. Swallowing, Raoul slipped through the gate with the family. He was about to breathe a sigh of relief when the guard said, "Wait. I think that was thirteen."

"Sir, there are twelve in my family," argued the husband in a calm tone. "Me, my wife, and ten children. The ceremony will begin soon, and we do not want to miss the opening."

With a puzzled frown, the guard looked down at his list again, and Raoul used that moment to duck into the crowds that were heading toward the enormous structure. Cari was right; it was beautiful and mysterious. Really, the entire place was strange, and it was easy to see how people would get caught up in the magic-start to believe in things that weren't real.

He took another deep breath to clear his mind, finding the adrenaline in his veins energizing now that he had come this far. Now to find Christine.

As he stared at the masses of people, all of them nearly dressed alike, his heart fell a little. This still wasn't going to be easy. He would only recognize her by those two blue eyes, which meant he was going to have to look into the faces of all these women. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of women.

A bell began to ring from somewhere high above, echoing around him.

Phillip was right to be worried; Cameron had a disturbing number of sheep now.

* * *

Twisting her hands together, Christine nervously waited behind a heavy red curtain for her time to sing. She was nearly sick with anxiety, her heart pounding in her ears as the volume of the murmurs in the giant room increased with the number of people. The Spirit would guide her, she knew, but that didn't completely take away her fear. She silently prayed to him. _Please let me do well. Please help me make you proud, dear Spirit._

Finally, the room silenced, and Cameron began to speak, his deep, steady voice filling the meeting hall. "Welcome, welcome, my friends. God be with you all. And to those who have traveled far to be here today, I extend my greatest gratitude. Return to those in your own communities and tell them what you have seen, heard, and, most importantly, _felt_ here today. Tell them to come to this blessed place so that we may become stronger and more powerful in our beliefs. My friends, we are the chosen, and we are the future. If you are still in any way part of the sinful World, take a look around the next time that you are in it. Do you have any desire to be among its ruin? I believe that I know the answer. You know that answer."

Cameron continued to speak for nearly an hour, only interrupted by occasional moments of silence and hymns sung by the male chorus. He talked about the coming end of the country and how they would be the ones to survive the collapse and rise above the ruin to form a holier nation that would finally obey the rules of God. It was the same speech given every year, more or less. There were only many more people this time, perhaps thousands. Walls in the assembly hall had been knocked down to make room.

Her heart beat quickened even more, and she grabbed a cold wall to steady herself. Suddenly, the lights flickered several times. Cameron paused. Then, after letting out a short laugh, he said, "I believe I know what that was, my friends. The Spirit is showing his support for our cause. He will help us in any way he can, but _we_ must be the ones to rise above the chaos, asking for his help during those moments when it seems all hope is lost."

A pause.

Then came the part Christine feared.

"And, now, a bit of a special treat for you," Cameron continued. "As you know, the Spirit himself has gifted one of our own with an amazing and holy voice. Not only that, but she has been chosen by him as a beacon of light and goodness for the community. May I humbly present to you, Ms. Christine Daae."

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and emerged. The view of the room from the stage was dizzying, and she envied Cameron's ability to speak so easily to all these people. He had always been a charismatic speaker who could cause the room to buzz with energy and excitement. All eyes were now upon her with everything from jealousy to curiosity to wonder. Some of the men were also gazing at her in a way that brought discomfort. She turned away from the sea of eyes and focused on the Spirit instead, looking upward to the wooden beams on the ceiling_. Please guide me. Please help me do well. _

Once at the microphone, she paused, smoothing her pine green and white checkered dress and adjusting her white lace collar. At least her hair was out of her face and not a bother, clipped back with a matching green bow. Her lips parted, and she began to sing her hymn. She sang only for the Spirit, not for Cameron and not for all the eyes. She could feel Him give her voice power, lifting it off the ground and making it soar throughout the room. As she progressed, it became even stronger. Though there were no windows, light seemed to shine down from the ceiling, forming a halo around her and blinding her from everything except His energy. Face tilted toward the ceiling, she finished on her highest note. She sighed in relief as the applause began and the light faded, leaving her out of breath, smiling, and in a daze. Even the solemn Cameron was clapping. She quickly stepped aside as he approached the microphone, bowing her head in respect.

"Thank you, Christine," he said with an approving nod. "It is obvious that the Spirit is a part of your soul now. All women should strive to be as you are—chaste and pure. Ladies and gentleman of the community, she is your example."

Christine was still dizzy as she headed toward the curtain, people nodding and murmuring as she passed. She merely smiled, wanting to escape the crowds and hear what the Spirit thought of her performance. That was all that really mattered in the end. Would it be appropriate to sneak off to her secret room, or should she stay for the rest of the ceremony? One of the elders was playing a slow song on the piano now. Perhaps she could leave for a bit and then return before anything important happened. If Cameron noticed, the Spirit would explain her absence to him. Her mouth was dry, and she swallowed as she approached the doors to the exit. Thankfully, no one seemed to be paying attention to her anymore.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed her upper right arm, the warmth of it seeping through the cotton of her dress. She nearly jumped into the air and then turned to see a young, attractive man standing behind her. A blush filled her cheeks; no one had ever dared touch her before. It was strictly prohibited. "C-can I help you, sir?" she stuttered, keeping her head down.

"Christine?" His voice was soft and kind. "Christine Daae? It's Raoul Chagny."

"R-Raoul?" Her mind was swirling.

"Don't you remember? Third grade? Nottingham Elementary?"

She slowly looked back up at him, mouth falling open as the memories rushed over her. Slides, movies, cookouts, trampolines, skating, swimming, a big yellow dog…. "Oh. I…I can't believe it. Raoul! Raoul Chagny!" She lowered her voice. "But how are you _here_? Have you joined our community?"

"No," he softly admitted with a blush. He took her hand, and she allowed it. "I snuck in here to see you after I found out you were here through…. Gah. It's a long story. I've always wondered what happened…. I always missed you. I wanted to know that you were okay."

"Oh," she whispered. "Raoul, I—" She brought her right hand up and touched his left cheek with the tips of her fingers. "I can't believe it." It was all she could say. She felt as if they were the only two people present at that moment, isolated in another world that was not the Community nor the Outside.

He grinned. "I can't believe it's really you either. You look different but kind of the same. Haha. I probably do, too, right? And your singing. Wow! You sounded amazing, Christine. I'm glad you still have that."

"Thank you. Me, too. I—" As Cameron began to speak again, it finally dawned on her that they definitely weren't alone. _And the Spirit. _What would the Spirit think of this? Her heart jumped into her throat, and she stepped backwards. "You could be in so much trouble being here."

He shrugged. "I'm not worried about it." Raoul leaned in; his breath smelled like peppermint. "I have to know, Christine. Are you happy here?"

"What?" she whispered.

"Tell me whether you're happy. Tell me if you want out of this. You're over eighteen; there's nothing they can do."

"I-I don't…I'm not…." She stuttered because the question was beyond her comprehension. Several years ago, the answer would have been: _Yes! Oh, please, yes! _But the Spirit. She couldn't leave the Spirit after all he had given her. She was chosen. Her destiny was no longer in her control.

"I swear," he continued. "I'll get you out. Just say the—_Ah!_" Raoul cried out suddenly as two hands clamped down on his shoulder. Christine gasped.

Two tall men stood behind him with stern expressions, wearing the black shirts and black trousers that were standard for the guardians of the community. "It is time for you to leave now, young man," said one. "I do not believe you are supposed to be here. You do not have Cameron's blessings to be here, do you?"

"Please don't hurt him!" Christine exclaimed as they roughly guided Raoul away. People came between them, curious over the commotion, and he was suddenly dragged out of her view and through the exit. She saw once that he was trying to twist away, but his efforts were useless.

She clutched the collar of her dress as a clammy sweat formed on her forehead, trying to figure out what to do, still feeling as though she'd been punched in the stomach and yanked out of a dream. The other world. The little boy who hated avocado. Another lifetime, really.

"Did he hurt you?" asked one of the remaining guards.

She looked up. "N-no, not at all. Will he be okay? What will happen to him?" He turned away and didn't answer her. Too many questions were not becoming of a woman, especially _those_ types of questions. There was only one entity who would know.

She rushed into the hall and raced down the stairs. The idea of a woman running was frowned upon, but she didn't think of that then. After throwing open the door to the room and nearly slamming it behind her, Christine fell to her knees. "Spirit? Spirit, please speak to me?" Eerie silence answered her. "Spirit, please make sure that Raoul isn't hurt. He's my friend from very long ago. He is kind and came here with good intentions. Please say he will be taken outside of the community and returned to his home."

Silence.

Silence.

And then….

"_Why do you care so dearly for that boy's welfare that you must run in here and pester me with it?" _

The rumbling tenor voice made her flinch. She lowered her head, hands splayed out on the ground. "Spirit, he is a friend from long ago. From when my mother and father were both alive. That is all. Please tell me he will be okay."

"He is a heretic. An outsider. He is destined for hell. You should not care what happens. He is already damned, no?"

Her upper lip trembled as she stared at the carpet. "Even if that is true," she finally whispered, "please let him stay safe on Earth."

Another long silence followed, the only sound her unsteady breath. "He will be released to the outside," the Spirit finally replied. "It is not my place to judge those who do not follow Cameron. But he had better remain there."

She nodded, her shoulders slightly relaxing. "Yes, Spirit. I'm sure he will. Thank you for your mercy."

"It is not mercy!" he snapped. "It is the order of things."

"Yes, I understand. Thank you still." She swallowed and tried to turn the conversation around. Raoul would be safe; that was all that mattered. "Did I do well, Spirit?"

"Yes, my beauty." His voice turned softer. And there was a touch of weariness that she'd never heard until now. "You shone like the brightest star. You were perfection. I have never been so proud."

"I couldn't have done it without you."

"As Cameron said, you will become a beacon for the community. A woman of true virtue as you guide others toward righteousness with your voice."

"I don't know if I'm ready for that."

"You will be," the Spirit replied. "I will see to it."

"Is that what you meant when you said I was part of your vision? My voice?"

A pause. "That is a part of it."

"What's the other part?"

"That will be known in time. When the country is closer to its end."

"What is it like out there?" she asked, looking toward the ceiling. "The World. I know it is not a good question, but I wonder sometimes, Spirit. Please don't be angry."

"It is horrid."

"I don't remember it being so terrible when I was a child," she murmured. "Maybe that's why I get confused."

"It has changed since your youth. It is violent and dirty, and the scent of death and poverty fills the wicked air. It is no place for someone like you, dear girl."

"What happened to it?"

"If you have such an interest in the World, then perhaps you have no need of me?" His voice was cold once more.

"No, Spirit. Forgive me. Please don't leave. You're very right. I'm blessed to be here with you, Spirit. Please don't leave me." She wiped a tear off of her cheek.

"I will not leave you, my beauty. _Never._ I have used so much of my power for the ceremony today that perhaps I am weary and being unnecessarily harsh. I will always be with you."

"Thank you." Completely exhausted, Christine stayed in that position on her knees for a long time, simply trying to make some sense of it all. When she was finally ready to leave, she wondered if he was gone. Surely the Spirit had more important things to do than linger in the silence with her. Still, she whispered, "Goodnight, Spirit."

"Goodnight, Christine."

* * *

Raoul's face was burning hot with anger as he threw open the door of the car and climbed in. He stared straight ahead, taking deep breaths and struggling to keep calm. Anthony watched him in the dim late afternoon light, allowing him some time to chill out before he asked, "So…did you see her?"

"I did," Raoul replied, licking his lips to bring moisture to his dry mouth. "I did."

"Wow. How was she?"

"I don't know. I was dragged out of there by goons before I could talk to her very long. They questioned me for like an hour and then finally let me leave."

"What did they ask you?"

"What you'd think." Raoul deepened his voice to mimic them. "What are you doing here? Who let you in? What do you want? Are you with the government? Do you know you're going to hell?"

Anthony shook his head. "Well, I hope you left my name out of it. What'd you say?"

Raoul shrugged. "That I was some stupid kid who wanted to look around and see what it was all about. Maybe I'd join or something. Then I told them I'd get the cops and a lawyer if they placed another hand on me. They didn't seem like they were going to kill me, so I didn't have to use my family name as a final card. Who knows how much they'll figure out…. Ugh. Let's get the heck out of here."

Anthony nodded and started the engine, slowly turning the car around. The roads were fairly empty. They'd be lucky if they could get back before the city curfew. Another ticket was just what Raoul needed right now.

"So could you tell how she was doing at all?" asked Anthony once they were on the highway.

"She was physically okay, I guess. But, man, I know she was scared. I could see the fear all over her face right before I was kicked out."

"Well, maybe she knew you weren't allowed to be there."

"She didn't look right," Raoul continued. "I mean, she was pretty. She sang like a goddess. But she had this vacant kind of look on her face half the time."

"Like brainwashed?"

"Exactly. Not the girl I remember. Christine was fun and happy. This girl was like a scared doll. It wasn't right."

"Hm," Anthony hummed in empathy.

They passed several people holding signs. "Goin' My Way? Need a Friend?" "Will Pay $5 to Get to Boston." "Broke and Starving. God Bless U."

"What are you going to do?" asked Anthony after a moment. "Leave it alone, or…?"

Raoul was staring out his window, watching the sun begin to descend and wondering the same damn thing. "I'm going to talk to Phillip," he finally said. "Make some kind of deal with him."

"Calling in the big guns?"

"Yeah."

* * *

Christine desperately sought normalcy over the next few days, trying to avoid thoughts about her voice or the Outside. She devoutly went about the chores she had been doing since she first arrived- gardening and food preparation and cleaning. She turned a deaf ear to Mrs. Valerius as the older woman gushed on about her vocal performance. Every time Christine allowed a thought to enter her mind, it seemed sinful. Pride and vanity over her performance. Curiosity regarding the World and Raoul Chagny.

Several times, she thought of visiting the Spirit for reassurance. Then again, she might just make him angry with her stupid questions. He had seemed oddly irritated at their last meeting, almost less mystical and more mortal in a strange way. It made her nervous. What had changed between them?

About five days after her performance, she'd finally begun to find inner peace. Everything would be okay, and life in the community would continue on as it had. She would visit the Spirit for her lesson soon, and he would reassure her that all was going as planned and that he was in complete control of her future. _Why should she worry when the Spirit was in control?_ With these thoughts, Christine was sitting in the armchair and embroidering a white handkerchief with little grey doves. Mrs. Valerius was in the other chair sipping on tea and reading. It was a still and quiet late afternoon, peaceful and simple. Christine's hands had finally stopped trembling enough for her to return to her crafts.

A loud knock at the front door caused them both to jump. "This is a strange hour for visitors," said Mrs. Valerius, checking the clock as her brow furrowed. She rose to answer it. As Christine heard her talking with several men, another nervous feeling engulfed her. She set down the handkerchief and tried to listen.

"You have got to me kidding me," said Mrs. Valerius. "This just can't be. Christine? You must have the wrong person. Didn't you hear Cameron? She is our beacon. She's a good girl."

Trembling, Christine stood and walked to the door. Three tall men whom she recognized to be guards for the community were standing there with somber expressions. A car with its headlines on was parked at the side of the road, and she blinked in the bright glow. "What's happening?" she whispered.

"You are wanted for questioning," said one of the men, his frown evident beneath his beard.

"By C-Cameron? Or the Spirit?"

"No, Ms. Daae. From…the Outside."

Christine's heart dropped. "_What? _Why?"

"I don't know and cannot answer your questions. They're waiting at the front of the community for you. You must be obedient and do as we say. You will come with us."

One of the other men spoke, his eyes gentler. "I am sure it will be settled. A misunderstanding is all. But Cameron is asking that we obey their wishes for now."

Mrs. Valerius had a hand to her heart. "This simply makes no sense. Christine has nothing to do with the Outside."

"Should I bring anything?" Christine asked, biting her lip to hold back tears.

"A few items of clothing," said the first man. "Just in case you are made to stay. There are only vulgar clothes on the outside."

Christine nodded, rushing back to her bedroom and grabbing a small leather bag. She threw in several dresses, undergarments, and toiletries. As an afterthought, she threw in one of the few photographs she had of her mother and father. They were standing in front of an enormous waterfall with big smiles, their faces tan and their eyes hidden by sunglasses. The picture was one of the few objects she had been allowed to keep from the Outside, and it nearly made her cry to see it now. _Please help me, Spirit._

She ran back downstairs and cast a helpless look toward a crying Mrs. Valerius. "I'll be okay," she whispered. "I'll be fine. The Spirit will protect me." Christine was silently escorted to the vehicle with men on all sides of her, and she felt others watching from their porches and windows. This would certainly be a scandal. What ungodly thing had Christine Daae done now? Despite her efforts to hold them back, tears fell down her cheeks as her heart pounded in terror. _What could she have done? Was this a test of some kind? Was she supposed to try to get away? No, she had pledged obedience…. But how could this be happening to her? _

Several minutes later, they stopped at the front gate. Christine clutched her bag until her knuckles turned white.

"We are going to give you to them now," said the stern guard. "God be with you. Be strong and silent. Do not let their evil ways sway you."

While silent, Christine felt far from strong as she approached another awaiting vehicle with a flashing blue light on top, utterly terrified as men in black uniforms with badges approached her. _Policemen_, she remembered. They were the law on the Outside. Turning her head slightly to take one last look behind her, Christine could see Cameron standing in the distance, frowning with his arms tightly folded across his chest.

"You people will pay for all of this," she faintly heard him say. "And you had better return her, or you will see legal action. The girl is happy here. You are taking her against her will, and I won't have it."

As she climbed in the back of the police car, she couldn't hear the reply. Hands folded in her lap, she stared out the window.

"Are you comfortable?" asked an officer from the passenger seat. Christine blinked in surprise at the voice. This policeman was a policewoman. "This must all be pretty scary. I promise it's going to be okay."

Maybe she wasn't being led to her doom. _Oh, Spirit. Where are you? Is this a trial? Have you done this somehow?_ _I don't understand. Is this part of your plan? _

There was no reply, and she was helpless as they drove her away from the place that had been her home for nearly thirteen years. Eventually, it became too dark for her to see anything for the majority of the drive, just an empty rolling field or a tree here and there. She was too horrified to sleep, and so she merely stared into the night.

Suddenly, around eight according to the digital clock in the car, there was light. Blinding, colorful, and artificial light. Blue and yellow and red. Sometimes it flashed and twinkled on signs.

She looked around with wide eyes and saw things she hadn't seen in ages. Certain restaurants. She remembered the special meals where she got a toy with her hamburger. _Happy Meal._ A movie theatre. A female in a skirt that went far above her knees and tall shoes that caused her to rise high over the ground. _High heels._ It was all there, even though it somehow looked sadder…_older_. Yes, the World had definitely gotten worse, just as the Spirit had said. Still, Christine gazed over all of it with the wonder of a newborn.

_City._


	5. Chapter 5

This chapter was originally a lot longer, but it got a little too long and I decided to chop it up. The good news is that the next chapter is mostly written and should be up fairly soon. Enjoy!

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"_Get your shoes on and we'll go to the zoo. Remember lions and tigers and bears?"_

"_Oh my!" She giggled. "Where is the zoo, Mommy?"_

"_In the city, Christine. Maybe we'll stop at the toy store afterwards and get you a new bike?"_

"_Without training wheels?"_

"_Well, you'll be able to take them off when you can ride on your own…."_

_City._

Christine was so enraptured by the sights around her that she barely noticed when the car came to a halt. Still clutching her bag, she nearly jumped when her door was opened by the female officer. "Follow me, Ms. Daae," she said. "This is almost over." Christine stared up at the policewoman; her dark blonde hair was pulled into a tight bun beneath her hat, and her eyes were calm. She was not like the women of the community, and yet Christine couldn't dislike her.

They were in front of a square brick building with bright porch lights. She squinted as she was led out of the car, surrounded on all sides as they walked toward the glass door. A gust of warm air hit her as she entered and was confronted with linoleum tiles and plain white walls.

"I hope you know what you're doing," said a male police officer to someone behind her. "That was messy. If she wants to stay, we're going to have to deal with them pestering us for awhile. If it hits the news cycle, we're going to have to spin it our way."

"I figured as much. Don't worry; I'll take care of it. Let Cameron throw a temper tantrum."

She turned around to see whom the policeman was speaking to. A tall, broad man was standing there, looking rather dignified in black pants and a white dress shirt. He became a little familiar to her as a wry half-smile formed on his mouth. "Hey there, Christine. It's been awhile. Remember when you and Raoul snuck into my room to play computer games and deleted my final paper? Was that your idea or his?"

"Phillip," she fondly whispered.

"Yeah. How you doing, kiddo?"

"Christine."

She turned toward the familiar voice on her other side. "Raoul?"

"Yeah." He weakly smiled and walked closer to her. "It's me, Christine."

"I don't understand." She looked between them. "What's happening?"

"I got you out," said Raoul. He shook his head and took a deep breath. "I had to. You looked so…so trapped. I got you out, and you never have to go back."

"You did _this_?" Her terror turned to a dull feeling of queasiness.

"I wanted to free you." He held his hands out toward her.

"Oh," she sickly whispered, arms falling limply to her sides. The bag slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a dull thud. "What have you done?"

"You told me to come find you, remember? That was the last thing you said when we were kids. Well, I did. I found you and got you out."

She closed her eyes. "Things have changed, Raoul."

* * *

"_You let them in?"_

"I had no choice! I can't keep out the police when they're threatening to search the entire place, not unless you want to see the entire community bombed into oblivion. We survive because, at least outwardly, we work within the law. I am not giving that legitimacy up for one silly little girl."

"You will bring her back." It was not a question.

Cameron hesitated. "I will do what I can. Inquire into this matter. But I'm not storming in there with guns and demanding her release. It would ruin my low profile."

"Then I will retrieve her."

"Erik—"

"I have no profile, Mr. Lourdes. I have been here for five years. You requested a slow and bloodless coup; I agreed to it. I thought it would be an interesting change compared to corpses lined in rows down streets… to children using the bodies of their parents as shields from the enemy. But I will be elderly if I continue to do this your way. Perhaps it is time to do things _my_ way."

"I am, in a sense," Cameron softly replied. He slid a photograph along his desk of an older man in a blue decorated uniform. "Look."

"A general."

"Yes," said Cameron. "Actually a four-star general for the Air Force. He believes in our cause; he even believes in the Spirit, you know? And there are other military personnel ready to follow us as well. They anticipate the eventual collapse of the country, thanks to you, and they know the current government will not last forever. And once we have the military on our side…."

"It is an important step forward," the Spirit agreed. "But I am still moving this along now. The equation is always the same. Desperation. Fear. Panic."

"Yes, well do so carefully. I do not want to be seen as a monster. I see a benevolent theocracy that rules with a just hand—not a cruel dictatorship. Those never last long."

"That is why you have me."

Cameron watched as the Spirit turned and began to leave in several quick strides. "Where are you going?"

"I am retrieving our songbird," he evenly replied without turning around. "_And_ moving the situation along. Killing two birds with one stone."

"I assume you mean figuratively killing?"

"You never can tell with these things, Cameron."

"_Erik._"

He finally whirled around, eyes flaring. "_What?_"

Cameron looked down at his wrinkled hands. "I believe that these events were also a warning to us from God. We should not display our women so brazenly as we did with little Christine; it makes them a target for sinful thoughts. I do not know if I can successfully integrate her into the community again."

"What do you mean by that?" the Spirit rasped so coldly that Cameron had to resist flinching backward.

"I mean that between her singing and this…incident, her presence is going to begin doing more harm than good. She has now felt the spotlight of vanity and seen the sinful world. So I will trust you to _discreetly _put her into a more proper role."

"She is _meant_ to sing. She is meant to be above the rest."

"I am not saying she can never sing again. I am saying that incidents like last night's—_or worse!_—are going to keep occurring if we bring attention to one girl. She will create competition among the men for her hand in marriage, and she obviously attracts the interest of those on the outside. That creates dangerous instability. Unless…." Cameron paused. "Erik…you have an interest in the girl, don't you? Maybe my original idea was wise. You know, it is required that all my top men have wives once the transition is complete. Why don't you have her? I will tell the community that she is under the care of the Spirit. She can sing on occasion, if you like, but she will remain separated from the community."

The Spirit stared at him, motionless except for his gloved hands slowly curling into black fists.

After receiving no response, Cameron continued to speak, taking on a more cautious tone. "Erik, I may not quite understand you. I don't know why you've detached yourself from everything, including almighty God. I don't know why you wear that horrid mask. Really, I don't want to know. But I do understand that men need obedient, meek, and godly women for sanity and faith. For this reason, women are _very _important to the stability of my new society. Perhaps you are not so different." He cleared his throat as the Spirit continued to remain silent, more shadow than man. "And if you choose not to stay when your work for me is complete, well, then I guess you can decide what to…do with her."

Still, the Spirit stared.

"Mr. Lourdes?" A man's voice came from the hallway. One of the guards.

Cameron had never been so grateful for the distraction. He turned. "Yes?"

"Sir, I think we need to make some type of public statement soon. Everyone is afraid."

"Ah, yes. You're right. Please keep everyone calm. I'll be there in a moment." He sighed and started to speak to the Spirit again. "What a mess. We'll have to get used to this as—" His mouth closed as he looked up and into empty space.

Cameron frowned.

The Spirit had disappeared.

* * *

"You really didn't want to leave?" asked Raoul. They were sitting on a backless wooden bench in the police building, and his head was bent as he stared intently at her tearstained face. "Is it because of your dad? Is he still there? "

"No," she murmured. "He died a couple years ago. Of pneumonia."

"Oh. I'm sorry." He paused. "My dad is gone, too…."

She finally glanced at him. "How?"

"Well, he was at a campaign rally several years ago. And this crazy anarchist guy came into the room and shot eight people. My dad held on a few days, but…." Raoul shook his head.

"I'm so sorry." After a pause, Christine added, "We don't have that in the community."

"Don't have what?"

"Senseless violence. We don't have shootings there."

Raoul softly sighed and tried not to be annoyed. "So you only want to stay because you think it's a nice place? It seems so restrictive and…I mean, I don't want to insult it. But I don't see how you could be happy there. You seemed frightened when I saw you."

"It's not about being happy, Raoul. It's…I have a duty to the community. The Spirit says so, and I can't disobey him. My future is his now."

"You believe in the Spirit?" he asked, unsuccessfully trying to hide the disdain in his voice.

"Oh, yes," she whispered. "Of course I do."

"But how do you know he's real?"

"I feel it. And he speaks to me! At least once a week. He teaches me to sing, and he gave me my voice."

"Have you seen him?"

She hesitated, picking at a loose thread on her dress. "No. I don't think he can be seen. Just heard. And he performs miracles."

"Like what? I hope it's cooler than making the lights flicker." Raoul chuckled at his own joke. Christine frowned. "Sorry."

"He can make things move without touching them. And he always watches us. He always knows if people are acting righteously."

"That's kind of creepy." She glared at the floor. "I'm sorry, Christine. Gosh, I sound like a big jerk. But you're telling me a voice without a body speaks to you. You really hear it?"

"Yes!" she snapped. "And I don't care if you don't believe in him. You wouldn't, Raoul! You're on the _outside_, and you won't understand!"

"You're right," he murmured. He filled his cheeks with air and then released a long breath. "I don't understand. I probably never will, and I'm sorry. I thought you were frightened and unhappy there. That's why I got Phillip involved. I didn't want to make you unhappy. I promise."

"So you'll take me back then?"

He inwardly cringed. "Could you just stay out here for a little while? A couple of days? Please?"

"Why?"

_To change your mind? Get de-brainwashed? _"So we could talk and visit again. It's been forever, and I've really missed you. That's all."

Her face scrunched up as though she were in deep thought. "I…I admit that I would like to see things out here. I'm sinfully curious. I was terrible about that when I was a child, you know? My curiosity about everything in the world. And I would like to talk to you. But-"

"But?"

"I don't want the Spirit to become upset."

"Doesn't he allow you to have vacations?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as serious as possible.

"No. The Spirit is very, very strict."

This was getting ridiculous. "How about three days? Three days of staying out here with me. Please? Don't you remember how much fun we had when we were kids?"

"Oh…" She nearly groaned. "Fine. Two days. But then you _have _to take me back! I can't stay away from the Spirit for very long, Raoul. You have to promise you'll take me back there soon, or he'll get angry."

"I promise," he said. "Cross my heart and hope to die." She nodded, her shoulders slumping now that the decision was made. Raoul wondered how Cameron how managed to trick all these people into believing in this spirit thing. Intercoms? Some kind of weird technology, obviously. It was really sick and twisted. "Be right back." Raoul hopped up and walked to where Phillip was chatting with the police.

His older brother turned toward him "What's going on?" he asked with annoyance. "Raoul, I thought you said she really wanted out. That doesn't seem like what's happening here. Now I'm going to have to deal with the community and-"

"She's just scared," Raoul interrupted. "I need a little time with her. It'll be okay. We can take her back to our house?"

"Shouldn't we try to find a counselor or something? That's what the police suggested. It's hard as hell to find any mental health help these days, but I could probably call in a favor somewhere…."

"Maybe later, but there's no time for that right now. I really need some space to talk with her."

"Yeah," said Phillip. "I guess. As long as it's not against her will. The last thing I need in the news is a kidnapping accusation."

"It won't be. She wants to stay for a couple of days."

"Fine. I'll call mom and let her know. But I hope that kid has some good information for us. And, whatever happens, you still owe me."

"I know." Raoul had promised to take an active role in Phillip's campaign and help in the fight against extremist forces-starting phone banks and conversation booths and creating flyers. Whatever. Raoul would have promised Phillip the White House if it had meant helping Christine escape.

Phillip had figured that the best way to go about getting her out of there was bringing the police into the fray. They would say that they needed to question Christine, claiming that she might have some information about an illegal incident in the city. It had been somewhat risky, but, as expected, Cameron wanted to lay low and not create a ruckus over one girl. Cameron Lourdes was surprisingly rational for a crazy person, Phillip often said. That's what made him dangerous.

"Will you come with us tonight?" Raoul asked, crouching down next to her again.

"With you and Phillip?"

"Yeah. I thought you said you would come for two days. What's wrong?"

"You're both men," she whispered, her face flushing. "I'm not supposed to be with just men…."

"My mom is there."

"So she'll be with us the entire time?"

"Yeah. You can have the guest bedroom right next to her. She can help you if you need anything, you know, that you might feel uncomfortable asking me for." God, this was awkward—a far cry from Christine diving into his arms and thanking him for rescuing her, followed by them sharing wine and dinner. That'd been how he had imagined this would happen, anyway.

"Okay. That sounds fine." She grabbed her bag and slowly stood, looking between them. "But I'll be alone with you in the car?"

"Yes," said Raoul. He rubbed his temples and struggled for patience. "I guess I could ask my mom to drive all the way over here. Or maybe that police lady could come. Or…."

"No," she said after thinking for a moment. "As long as it's just the car…."

_Thank God._ "Let's go," he said to Phillip with a sideways nod of his head. After a short exchange with the police officers, his brother followed them outside.

Once they were in the car, Christine looked around and asked, "What happened to all the lights?"

"The lights? Oh. Curfew," Raoul replied.

"I don't remember that. I mean, I had a bedtime. But I don't remember adults having to be inside, too."

"No, that only happened a couple of years ago," said Raoul.

"Why is there a curfew here?" she asked, sitting forward slightly. "And what happened to everything?"

"The curfew is because of crime," Raoul replied. "What do you mean by what happened?"

"It looks…different. Not as nice. Or maybe it's just because I've been away for so long."

"No, you're right," said Phillip. He loved having this discussion. "Things aren't all that good. Not here and not anywhere else in this damn—uh, pardon my language—in this country. Long story short, unemployment kept going up, and no one could find work. There was some pretty bad inflation for awhile. A lot of people went overseas. Others joined street gangs and survivalist groups. Most people can barely get by."

"No one knows why things never got much better," added Raoul. "Maybe like six or seven years ago, it looked like there was going to be a recovery. People were finding work. Crime was going down."

"Right," said Phillip. "But then things seemed to get worse again overnight. There were riots over wages and work conditions. And then the economy completely destabilized. It was kind of weird-how it just seemed to get bad again for no real reason. I've talked to economics professors, historians…none of them have quite figured it out."

"I know why." Her voice was barely audible.

"Why?" asked Raoul.

"Because there is so much sin here. This is a very bad world. It's doomed to fail. That's what Cameron and my father said. That's what the Spirit says."

Phillip opened his mouth to rebut her, but Raoul nudged him. His older brother rolled his eyes but was silent. Raoul glanced back at her several times during the now quiet drive. Christine was staring out the window, almost as though she were searching for something in the darkness.

They reached the gated neighborhood, and he led Christine into his house, cautious in his movements so as not to startle her. She seemed so jumpy and fragile. His mother was on the couch watching television in a nightgown and pink bathrobe. Christine's eyes immediately went toward the talking box and then back to her. "Oh, Christine! It's been such a long time. It's so good to see you again," said Judy, standing and eyeing her curiously.

Christine smiled, maybe relieved to see another woman. "You as well, Mrs. Chagny." They lightly hugged. "Your house is so nice and different."

Judy shot him a puzzled expression, and Raoul mouthed, "I'll talk to you later, Mom."

He led her to the quaint guestroom upstairs. It contained a bright blue canopy bed, and the shelves and four-drawer dresser were decorated with white and blue Ming pottery. The wallpaper was also striped white and blue. His mom had once been an interior decorator, and their house still showed the beautiful evidence.

"The bathroom is connected to the room, right over there," he said. "Let me know if you need anything." She nodded and set her bag on a table, gaze falling toward the carpet. "So, unless you'd like to talk some more, I'll let you get some sleep. You're probably exhausted from all this." Raoul was starting to feel a little guilty about the whole thing. Then again, he would have felt even worse if he'd left her under Cameron's control. He couldn't win either way. "Well, goodnight, Christine. It's really great to see you." He turned to leave.

"Raoul?"

He glanced up hopefully. "Yeah?"

"You can join the community with me. I want you to be safe, too. I'll make sure that the Spirit protects you."

He lowered his head. "I…. Let's talk about everything later. I think we're both pretty tired."

She swallowed and nodded. "Okay. Good night, Raoul."

"Night."


	6. Chapter 6

_Onward!_

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Christine barely slept that night, still confused and shaken. Half the time, she expected the Spirit's voice to boom out of the darkness, demanding to know why she'd left, condemning her to Hell. There was never a Voice, but the noises were very strange there. She heard bangs and electrical hums and horns and sirens. _How did anyone sleep?_

She couldn't deny her curiosity. Her words to Raoul were honest; she did have a sinful desire to see the world one last time. Ever since she was a little girl, even after the Spirit had spoken to her, she had wanted to experience the Outside again. It had been difficult to resist the opportunity with Raoul begging her, his handsome face so desperate and forlorn.

Raoul Chagny. He was right out of a fairy tale. If he'd reached her at sixteen, she would have jumped on his white horse and let him carry her far away to his castle. But not now. _Not with the Spirit._

A knock awoke her from a shallow slumber as the sun began to rise. "Christine?"

"Yes?" she hoarsely asked. She blinked several times to reprocess where she was.

"Can I come in?"

"Um, I'm still in bed."

A pause. "That's okay."

"No, it's not. Let me dress." She pulled the covers over her in case he walked in.

"All right. It's cool. Let me know when you're done, okay?"

"Okay."

He was a man, her old friend, and an Outsider. And she had no idea whether to show him respect, friendship, or scorn. In the end, it was all three, but she had trusted him enough to take her to a safe place. She'd always trusted Raoul when they were children, and there was still nothing but kindness and concern in his eyes. He just didn't understand how things were now.

Christine quickly got up and slipped on a yellow dress with blue clovers over her undergarments, before pulling her long hair back with a yellow headband. She felt far too vulnerable and out of place here to shower.

"You look nice," Raoul said as she emerged. He scratched the back of his head, looking her up and down with an expression she couldn't read.

"Thank you." She followed him downstairs to where his mother was reading. It was difficult to keep her eyes off certain gadgets—televisions and radios and computers. So many sounds and pictures assaulted her senses at once. On the TV, a man in a suit and a woman in a very short red dress were dancing in a way that would have infuriated Cameron.

"Feel free to watch whatever you want," said Raoul. "Mom won't mind."

"I won't," said Judy. "Unless you turn it to football. Ethan always used to do that…. Haha." She smiled and turned back to her magazine. Christine found her kind of sad.

She quickly averted her gaze from the television. "No, that's okay. I don't want to watch anything."

"How are you feeling this morning?" Raoul asked. He held out a white box of assorted muffins toward her. "They're fresh. This lady down the street sells them."

She slowly chose an apple bran muffin. "I'm fine, thank you. Um…thanks." The sweet bread was moist and delicious. She'd never even had dinner last night. _Mrs. Valerius must be so worried…. _Christine couldn't even dwell on what the Spirit must be thinking without her heart beating into a frenzy.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes," she lied.

"Good." He shifted. "So, uh, is there anything you'd like to see or do? I'd love to show you around a little bit. The nicer parts. Take you to a movie? Anything!"

She smiled. Her one last chance to see the World, and her mind was already going blank. "We could drive past our old elementary school. That'd be fun! And maybe the zoo. Or a mall. Or a park."

"Okay," said Raoul. "Well, I think the zoo is closed for renovation. But the rest sounds like a plan. Awesome."

She glanced down. "Will your mom come with us?"

"Probably not. She doesn't like to get out much…thinks the world is too dangerous." He probably noticed her dismayed expression. "But, hey, I know. There's my friend, Megan. A girl-obviously. Her mom used to be part of the community! In fact, she's the one who told me you were there. Do you know a Caroline Giry?"

"The name sounds kind of familiar." But Christine did remember her. _The woman who lost her mind and was banished. _

"Yeah. I'd invite my friend Anthony, too, but he can be a little over the top. So we'll keep it simple."

She nodded. His eyes were so hopeful, and his smile was kind and warm. If only he would understand how much trouble he was in out here, being part of the World. As he hopped up and made a phone call, she watched him and wondered if he could ever be convinced to join her in the community. Then he would be saved, too.

"Meg is going to take a bus and meet us at the front soon," said Raoul, slipping on a jacket. "Ready?"

"Yes," she replied. After running upstairs to grab the one knitted sweater she'd brought, Christine followed Raoul outside. His neighborhood was rather lovely in the sunlight, the houses freshly painted and the yards tended as well as the ones in the community. Not everything in the World was falling apart.

Raoul introduced her to Meg Giry, and Christine immediately noted that the girl was nearly her physical opposite. Her dark hair was cut short, and she was wearing tight jeans and a small lime green t-shirt. She had three piercings in one ear and a smile that was somewhat mischievous. "Hi," said Meg, curiously tilting her head to the side. "It's really nice to meet you."

"You as well," said Christine.

"Are you having a good time…out here?"

"She just got here," said Raoul. "I don't think she knows if she's having a good time yet, right?" Christine was grateful that he spoke for her.

They drove around from place to place, and Raoul pointed out everything from their past. "So there's the park we used to play at. It's not so nice now. Stupid graffiti. And there's our school. I don't think any of our teachers are still there. Schools are pretty bad these days."

"Yeah, my old high school was turned into a two-star hotel," muttered Meg. She looked back at Christine. "What was school like for you?"

"Umm. Reading and writing and some math."

"But what about high school?"

Christine felt her face warm. "There were just some different classes." The truth was that, after age fourteen, academic classes for women tapered off in favor of cooking and other homemaking courses. At least she'd been allowed to continue her music, both piano and voice lessons. The boys were permitted to have more history and science classes, and Christine sometimes read their textbooks when no one was looking.

Raoul must have sensed her discomfort and quickly changed the subject. "So there's the old museum. That closed two years ago. It was kind of sad."

"Wow," Christine murmured. It was all she could say in this urban jungle. Even small things caught her attention, like people walking their dogs through the park. Few exceptions were allowed for pets in the community; she did miss kittens and puppies. Children were defying their parents by running away and laughing. Teenagers were smoking cigarettes on a street corner, and a boy and girl were kissing fervently against a wall. The couple giggled and ran off hand-in-hand. They were happy but naïve to their sins, Christine told herself. Kids were drawing with chalk on a sidewalk in a nicer neighborhood, and that made her smile. Some of the walls had colorful murals painted on them. _Art._ There was so little of it in the community….

She hoped it was okay to eat pizza and soda. Cameron had never made a statement against the food at least. The steaming mozzarella cheese was divine, and she closed her eyes in delight. Raoul had taken her to a pizza parlor near his home.

"You look like you're enjoying that," he said with a grin.

She blushed with string cheese still half-hanging from her mouth.

"Don't embarrass her," said Meg, giving Christine a playful nudge with her elbow. "So what's next? Shopping? Ooh! Wait. I'm going to play old school pinball first." She jumped up and ran over to a machine that looked ancient. Clanks and beeps rang into the air.

Raoul softly laughed and then grew serious again. "So…how are you doing, Christine?"

"I'm a little tired," she admitted. "This is all…a lot to take in."

He nodded. "Maybe we'll do the shopping center tomorrow. And the zoo should be open next week."

"I won't be here anymore next week, though. Right?" She eyed him, heart thudding in her chest.

"Right," he softly replied, head hanging in defeat.

* * *

Raoul's goal for that day was to make this world as fun as possible for her. He took her to the few places that were still nice, well-kept parks and stores where people still bothered to paint the walls and take out the trash. He didn't pry into her life and quietly told Meg not to interrogate her about the community. Phillip also wanted a turn questioning Christine about the inner workings of Cameron's world, and Raoul still wasn't sure how that was going to work. He was going to delay that conversation as long as possible, until Christine was demanding to leave.

"Looks like you worked up a sweat playing that," he said as Meg returned.

"I got some bonus balls." She looked between them. "So what's up?"

"I think we're going to call it a day and maybe go back out tomorrow. You can show Christine what's left of the fashion world; I have no idea what's up with any of that."

"Sounds good! So you'll drop me off?"

"Uh." Raoul glanced back at Christine. "Well, she doesn't want to be alone with me in a car. So I'll have to drop her off with my mother, and then take you—"

"It's okay," said Christine, softly. Raoul glanced at her in surprise. "I mean, the car is fine. I trust you."

"Great," said Meg, subtly winking at Raoul. "You can meet my mom."

He was actually a little nervous about taking her to Meg's part of the city. Then again, it was pretty impossible to avoid poverty and decay in this day and age. As they approached Meg's door, Christine folded her arms loosely against her chest and looked around. With her modest dress and lack of makeup, she appeared very out of place. And kind of beautiful, Raoul thought, with a few strands of long hair blowing out from under her headband in the breeze. Her lips were slightly parted, and her eyes were a little curious and a little lost. Raoul gently took her hand and gave it a squeeze. He was relieved when she didn't pull away.

"Yes, I remember you," said Caroline as she answered and greeted them. She seemed healthier, dressed in a black turtle neck and blue jeans that made her appear slender. "You've grown a bit, but I remember."

"How are you?" asked Christine. Raoul couldn't read her expression, but she seemed to be studying the older woman closely.

"I'm well. Happy to be with my daughter."

"Yes, that must be very nice. But I…I'm sorry you couldn't stay with us. Maybe the Spirit would let you back in?"

Caroline shook her head. "No. I don't want that. The Spirit allowed me to have this life, and I have learned to be grateful for it."

Christine smiled widely. "_He_ did?"

"Oh, yes! It was his decision to return me here. Who am I to question him?"

Christine nodded eagerly. "He speaks to me."

"Does he? I didn't know he spoke to anyone except Cameron. What does his voice sound like?"

"It's divine! Directly from heaven!"

Raoul and Meg exchanged a subtle "what the hell?" glance.

"So you'll be returning?" asked Caroline.

"Yes. I must for the Spirit. He is in control now."

Caroline nodded. "I am sure he is. God be with you."

"And you," replied Christine, still smiling. Raoul somberly said goodbye to Meg and then led Christine back to his car. A heavy feeling was gathering in his chest. What could he show her now that would make her want to stay? Why did the stupid zoo have to be closed?

After a silent drive, they were back in his neighborhood. He climbed out of the car and spotted the park down the street where the wealthy could still allow their children to play without fear. Without a word, Raoul dashed over to it and jumped onto one of the rubber swings. Christine stared after him with wide eyes. After a second, she slowly walked to the playground and asked, "What are you doing?"

"Not everything's changed!" he exclaimed, pumping higher and higher. Maybe it was catharsis. Maybe it was one last futile grab at the past.

She nervously laughed and sat on the swing beside him. They swung together, her hair glinting in the orange light of the slowly setting sun and her dress floating out around her. He let out a cry as the swing jerked when he finally got too high, and Christine giggled. Finally, they both slowed and rocked back and forth, slightly out of breath.

"Are you going to stay here?" she softly asked. "In this city?"

"I'm going to help my brother for a while. But if things don't get better soon, I'm going to leave."

"Where are you going?"

"Maybe Europe or Asia. I haven't really planned it out yet. Things are better in other countries, though."

"Are you sure you don't want to come with me?" she asked, glancing away.

He sighed. "Chris, I wouldn't do well there. I don't believe in any of it. I'm sorry."

"You don't believe in God?"

"I think I do. It's not that. But I don't believe in following strict, old-fashioned rules to get into heaven. I don't believe everyone is damned just because they don't follow some old guy in a beard or believe in disembodied voices. That's a little over the top for me." He saw her expression and repeated, "I'm sorry."

"It's…okay."

"I wish you'd stay with me." He weakly smiled. "I'd take you anywhere you wanted to go."

Her blue eyes were distant once more. "The Spirit, Raoul. I believe in him with all my heart."

"I know you do. I just—"

"What?"

"I don't want you to be hurt if you ever find out that…your Spirit isn't what you think it is. Like if it's Cameron manipulating you."

She shook her head. "Cameron doesn't have a voice like the Spirit. No mortal man really could. He sang to me once, Raoul, and it was…it was really a voice from heaven. The Spirit is as real as you or me."

"If you say so," Raoul murmured. He was done trying to argue, at least for now. "But you'll stay one more day. Please?"

"Yeah." She smiled. "I want another slice of pizza. Maybe…maybe Cameron would let me make my own version of it there, you think?"

Raoul gave a short, sad laugh. "Maybe."

They rocked back and forth in silence for a long time. Feeling like he was continuing to lose her, Raoul urgently tried to come up with fascinating activities for them to do tomorrow. It wasn't that he was desperate for a romantic relationship with her. Of course, he wanted it on some level, but, mostly, the thought of her going back to that place was devastating. All because of some horrible mind manipulation. _What had they done to her?_

Before he left the country, he would try to help Phillip destroy these sick people. Was that maybe the answer to saving Christine? First taking down the entire cult? The thought perked him up somewhat as they finally left the playground and joined his mother for a quiet dinner.

_Was there at least a way to stall her any longer? _Raoul wondered this as he headed to bed that night. He fell into a troubled sleep, only to be awoken several hours later by a deep rumbling outside. Then he heard shouts and another explosion, yellow and orange lights flashing through his window. Jumping out of bed, he threw open the door and ran into the hall. Christine and his mother were standing there in their nightgowns, clasping hands with wide, terrified eyes. Phillip was at his own place that night, and so Raoul took charge. "C'mon," he said, leading them down the stairs. "Let's see what's going on."

Signaling for them to stay back, he opened the front door and peeked outside. The smell of something burning was heavy in the air, and he coughed in the growing clouds of smoke. Flames were jumping out of the buildings down the block, around a post office and the café Raoul loved. At least both were closed at this hour. The roof was completely engulfed in fire, and the windows had shattered. "Holy crap," he whispered, taking several steps outside. Neighbors had also come outside to look at the glowing ball of orange.

He approached the street, wondering if there was something he should do. Someone had probably called the underfunded fire department by now. "I wonder what happened," his mother murmured. She and Christine had followed barefoot behind him, eyes fixed on the jumping flames.

"Must have been an accident. Faulty wiring or something," Raoul replied as they stood together on the curb. He was about to tell them it might be best to get back inside; the smoke was doing a number on his lungs. Before he was able, another explosion shook the ground beneath him, knocking him off his feet and onto his hands and knees. He cried out and heard Christine and his mother do the same.

Smoke filled the air so thickly that he could barely see a foot in front of him. Raoul's eyes watered, and he fell into a short coughing fit on the ground, lungs raw and burning. Once he'd recovered, he rose up from his sore knees, reaching out to grasp at the air around him. "Mom! Christine!"

"Raoul!" his mom cried. She stumbled toward him and grabbed his shoulders.

He hugged her protectively. "Are you okay?" he asked between gasps of breath.

"I'm fine," she replied. "Oh, what's happening? What's going on?"

"I don't know." He frantically looked through the fog as it finally began to clear. With some relief, he saw that there wasn't another fire—just an explosion of thick smoke. "Christine?" he called, turning around so many times that he became dizzy. "Christine!"

"Christine?" Judy joined him in his search.

"Christine!" He screamed her name as loudly as he could, still hoarse. The smoke had almost completely cleared by now, revealing her certain absence. A massive fire truck was now rolling through the gate, sirens blaring and lights flashing. _"Christine!" _he hollered over the growing noise.

He ran around the entire neighborhood and through the rooms of his house, all the while screaming her name. Maybe she'd become frightened and tried to hide? His mom asked neighbors if they had seen a young blonde woman. But no one had.

She was simply…_gone._

* * *

_What happened? _

An explosion had knocked her to her knees, leaving her nightgown and hands splayed out on the street. Her hair flew out wildly across her face. Breathing heavily, Christine could only see clouds of smoke rising around her when she glanced up with a gasp, although she didn't seem to be directly engulfed. It was as though an invisible glass wall were protecting her from the billowing grey clouds, allowing her to still breathe and see. Her friend was no longer in sight, though.

"Raoul?" Her voice was weak. "Raoul? Where are you?"

"_Christine….Christine…."_

Her head jerked at the sound of the familiar voice. It rolled over her like the smoke, smooth and perfect. She slowly stood on two shaky legs, wondering if it had been her imagination.

"_Christine…."_

"Spirit?" she whispered. _He had found her!_ Desperately, she turned around and searched for the direction of the voice.

Suddenly, a black outline of someone or something appeared through the smoke, looming over a foot above her. Two glowing yellow dots shown from the top of it. Christine shrunk back and stared at the silhouette, trembling. "Spirit?" It was a plea for help this time.

"Yes, my beauty. You will come with me now." Indeed, it was the Spirit's voice.

_But what was the shadow?_ It was coming closer and closer, flying like a black ghost toward her. Her head was unclear, and her mouth was dry. "Are we returning to the community?" she managed to ask.

"Not yet, Christine. There are other plans to attend to."

She thought she heard Raoul's voice somewhere behind her and glanced back.

"_Christine…." _The Spirit's voice guided her attention forward again. She looked down with dazed eyes and suddenly saw a pair of shiny black shoes. There was the sensation of cool leather beneath her palm and fingertips.

_The Spirit wears clothes…._

That was her last thought before she felt a strange and peaceful exhaustion finally consume her.


	7. Chapter 7

Here we go. And please be patient with poor Christine for a little while. Her mind has been pretty scrambled. I'm actually hoping to make her one of the stronger Christines I've written, but it will take some time to get her there.

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"A bomb exploded in a northeast gated neighborhood last night. Officials think it was possibly an attack against the wealthy residents of the area. Citizens Against Classism are denying responsibility on their website, but officials appear to believe that the more militant sect of CAC may be responsible. This morning, their Baltimore headquarters were raided, leading to protests in twelve cities against increasing government intervention. The streets had quieted by early afternoon, but authorities are still on edge as tensions continue to rise. Please stay tuned for more news and your local weather."

* * *

"So she just disappeared?"

"Just like that." Raoul looked down into his soda. "There was an explosion of smoke. By the time I recovered, she was gone." The café was also gone, nothing but a pile of smoldering rubble now. A day later, he and Meg were sitting outside of a rundown hamburger joint and staring down at overcooked food.

"Do you think she ran away?"

"No."

Meg's voice lowered to a whisper. "So you think she was kidnapped?"

"Yeah," Raoul muttered as he nibbled on a blackened French fry. "I know someone took her."

"Wow. Do you think CAC is holding her hostage or something?"

Raoul grunted. "That's just more BS from the media because it makes a good story. The poor verses the rich thing. Me and Phillip are pretty sure it wasn't them."

"How come?"

"Phillip says that CAC always leaves a symbol, like a burnt up hundred dollar bill or a coin with a hole in it. Something like that. But we only found a short note at the scene…."

"Ooh. What'd it say?" Meg leaned in.

"It just said: 'She is safe and where she belongs. Make no attempt to see her again. Interference will be met with retaliation.'"

"Did you show it to the police?"

"Here's the part you won't believe." Raoul could feel his heart still jump at the memory. "Five minutes after we unfolded the letter, it disintegrated into practically dust."

"That's creepy! What's Phillip going to do?"

"He's going to launch a complaint and make some threats. It's obvious the community is involved, but we don't have any real proof. But…he…." Raoul sighed. "Phil thinks she didn't want to be here anyway. He thinks I need to let it go and focus on the whole community. Let Christine go. He wants to destroy Cameron politically instead of bringing the police in again and causing more chaos."

Meg rested a hand on his bare arm. "Is that what you're going to do? Let her go?"

"Do you think I should?" Raoul asked, looking into her dark eyes.

"I dunno. I didn't get to know her well enough to know what she was thinking. But she really believed in the Spirit; I could see that."

"Yeah, that's what pisses me off. That's the _only_ reason she wanted to go back. That stupid Spirit, which isn't even real." Raoul hesitated. "But she did want to go back. I can't deny that. If I find her there, I can't take her against her will again; she'll hate me forever." He shook his head.

"Yeah."

"Things are getting bad, you know? I have a feeling that things are going to get worse before they get better."

Meg nodded. "I feel it, too. Sometimes I wonder if I could get me and my mom out of here, but we don't have the money."

"That's something I do have," said Raoul with a weary smile. "Tell you what. Give me some time to see if anything can be fixed. If Cameron can be stopped. If anything in this country can be salvaged. If not, I'll get both of us out of here. Me, you, and our moms. We'll go live somewhere awesome. Like Paris."

"Oh, that _would _be awesome," murmured Meg. "Fresh croissants and brie and wine every day. Anything to leave here. Everything and everyone is a mess…."

"You seemed to turn out okay."

She shrugged and poked at her hamburger before tossing it aside. "I remember when things were really good, when my parents had money. And then my aunt-she was kind of strict but really smart and interesting. It was probably good that I got to stay with her for so long. She moved to Melbourne to teach, and I was going to go with her. But when my mom left the community, I had to take care of her."

"I know how that goes. My mom was never the same after my dad died. I think both our moms grew up during such good times that, when the bad times came, they didn't really know how to deal. We were the ones that had to pick up the pieces, huh?" Meg nodded. He put an arm around her in friendship, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. At some level, he felt like they were the only sane ones in the world…. Or at least in the country.

_Well, Chris, I hope I see you again someday. I'm not ready to stop fighting Cameron and making you see what a psycho he is. And that the Spirit is a giant hoax. But, for now, I hope you're happy, wherever you are. I hope you're safe. _

* * *

She felt a nest of warmth and softness all around her and nestled her cheek against it. A soft hum of contentment escaped the back of her throat. _What day was it?_ Time to get up and go to services, she supposed. Oh, but the bed was _sooo_ comfortable. Maybe she would wait for Mrs. Valerius to come in, open her curtains, and say, "Come along, Sleeping Beauty. The prince won't get here before worship services."

Christine lay there half-asleep and wrapped in comfort for another hour or so. _I wonder why Mrs. Valerius hasn't come in yet. Surely, it's late morning by now…._The only sounds she heard were a steady hum and then once a rustling noise in the distance. Something didn't feel quite right.

Suddenly, a memory returned. And then another. _Raoul! _

_The fire. The smoke._

_The Spirit. The Shadow!_

Christine opened her eyes, rolled onto her back, and sat straight up. Immediately, her heart jumped up into her throat, and she gasped. _Where am I?!_

The room was rather beautiful, even lovelier than the guest room at Raoul's house. The walls and ceiling were painted a pure snow white, and a lavender bedspread with white lace on the edges covered her. Flowers had been placed in vases along two dark oak dressers, purple and white irises and red roses, although she couldn't tell whether they were real or fake. The headboard and footboard of the bed were semicircles filled with gold bars. The carpet was cream, and there were two oil paintings on the wall, one of the seashore and one of the forest. There were no windows and no clocks.

One white door with a gold knob was at the front of the room, and it was completely closed. There were two similar doors to her right that were cracked open. After taking several seconds to recover from her shock, she slowly pushed the covers off of her and stood, heart continuing to hammer. The carpet was soft against her bare feet.

She was still wearing her nightgown, although dark dirt and soot now stained the white cotton. Christine tiptoed to the first open door and peeked inside. It was a bathroom with lavender rugs that matched the bedspread and a pine green shower curtain. A small square mirror was fixated on the wall above the marble sink, but the glass was tilted downward and reflecting the counter. She adjusted it back up to take a glance at her reflection. "I look like a mess." The vain stray thought passed through her panicked mind as she stared at her stringy hair and blotchy, dirty face.

With a shaky sigh, Christine gazed into the second open room. It was a walk-in closet, filled with at least twenty dresses, each one a different color. They were similar to the ones she'd always worn in the community except a little more elaborate, decorated with various pockets and buttons and patterns. All were probably handmade. She backed up, finding the room a little disturbing, the carpet squishing beneath her toes.

She now stared at the closed door, sensing it led to a lot more than a closet and a bathroom. Trembling, she put her ear to the cool wood but heard nothing but the electrical hum. Her clammy fingers brushed against the doorknob.

Christine backed away from the door and paced across the room for several moments. _I can't stay in here forever. But why am I here? I don't understand. Spirit, where am I?_

Finally, she stopped in her footsteps and stared at the knob again. _Okay, just a glance out. I have to. Maybe I'm in the community again. Yes! Maybe Cameron had just put her in a safe house within the community so that she could recover from her ordeal._ Here she was being completely silly when she was probably safe and sound. Maybe Mrs. Valerius was even waiting outside to take her home! "Calm down, Christine," she whispered to herself. "You're acting crazy. Put your trust in the Spirit."

Who could blame her behavior, though? The last couple of days had been very traumatic. All she wanted was to go back to the safety of the community with dear Mrs. Valerius and resume her music lessons with the Spirit. The Outside had been interesting but overwhelming, and she simply wanted everything to be normal again.

_I just need to get out of this stupid room…. _It nearly reminded her of a dollhouse she'd had when she was four.

With a deep breath, Christine approached the door again.

But then the knob began to turn on its own, slowly twisting clockwise with a soft squeak.

Her heart nearly stopped as she realized that someone on the other side was opening the door. Christine backed up and ran into the bed, falling over the footboard and onto the covers, hands reaching out behind her for support. She stared as the door slowly opened, praying for Mrs. Valerius or Raoul or even Cameron. Any familiar face.

Her prayers went terribly unanswered.

The shadow from the smoke loomed in the doorway, one gloved hand still on the doorknob. _Only now she had a full view of it!_ Black from head to toe. Black shoes. Black suit and gloves and hat and mask. It was over six feet tall, standing there and watching her with its two yellow eyes. Her mouth fell open, a scream threatening to emerge from the back of her dry throat. Her heart pounded in her ears as she attempted to scoot even further backward and finally ran into the headboard. A soft groan of pain escaped her lips and then lengthened into a short sob of terror. As the shadow stepped into the bedroom, Christine started to attempt another scream.

But then it spoke.

"I had thought I heard you awake. And here you are, still in bed. Rest if you are tired, of course. You had a rather long night. But then you must dress and come out. This room is only for sleep, Christine. You will grow bored if you remain in it too long."

Her mouth closed as the familiar voice came from behind the mask of the figure, the sound of heaven coming from the sight of horror. The memories of the previous night became clearer. And, suddenly, she understood. Her mind would no longer protect her from the truth.

The Shadow _was _the Spirit.

"Sp-spirit?" she stuttered, clutching the covers with her hand.

"Yes, my beauty. I am. Your dear Spirit." He gestured to himself with his right hand. "For reasons that you will understand in time, these new circumstances were necessary. You will remain here for awhile, perfecting your voice and gaining wisdom that is far beyond the knowledge of those in the community. Your destiny begins here. We have spoken of it many times, no?"

She still didn't trust this, her eyes continuously running up and down the wraithlike figure. He was so skinny that the suit seemed to hang off of him. It took her several seconds to speak. "But…. I-I don't understand…. You…You're…You've taken _that _form?"

He hesitated and then, with a short nod, said, "Yes, Christine. A more tangible form to finish my work on earth, no? A mere voice cannot accomplish much, can it? But now I am able to walk around like any other mortal."

She slowly nodded. It made sense. It did. But…."Is...Is that the only form you can take?"

"Yes," he curtly replied. "Were you expecting something else?"

The question had a coolness to it that made her nervous. "Well, I…I thought maybe you might…look like…like an Angel. With white light around you. I thought that in my mind for so long…."

"Perhaps you were read too many fairy tales?"

"Perhaps," she whispered, looking downward.

"I have disappointed you, my beauty?" he softly asked. His arms were down at his sides now, and he made no more motions to come toward her.

Christine lied with a shake of her head, her mind still trying to make sense of it all. "Does Cameron know you look like this?"

"Yes." She glanced up back up, and they merely stared at each other for several seconds, neither blinking. "It is as it is, no?" he finally asked.

She nodded again.

"I will give you some time to adapt. To wash and dress. And then we have much to discuss. Much to do." He gestured toward the outside of the room. "You may come out when you wish. You may use any room that isn't locked."

"Are we in the community?" she dared to ask.

"No."

"Then where are we?"

"My earthly home," he replied. "Away from all distractions."

Her heart fell even further. _He didn't want her to know where she was…._ "Can I see Mrs. Valerius?"

"Not for some time, Christine. You will stay here. And you will learn and you will make music with your Spirit and you will soon be very happy. You will. My vision for you is the grandest of all. I will leave you now to prepare yourself."

He left her there, closing the door behind him, and she nearly started to cry. This was her Spirit. It was; the voice was exactly the same. Yet it had been so much easier to deal with the voice when it came from heaven than to deal with _this-_to be completely alone with a…_shadow man_.

A moment of panic gripped her entire body. Her breathing was so rapid and her heart beat so quickly that she had to lie down again before she fainted, curling up into a ball on the bed. For a second, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to escape this nightmare. Opening her lids, she saw that she was still there. Still trapped.

_The Spirit won't hurt me. He is the Spirit. The same Spirit he's always been. He just looks very different, not what you imagined. But he's the Spirit. _

If she could convince her mind to believe this, she wouldn't go into hysterics. Yes, the Spirit was out there. Her Spirit who had taught her to sing and been her guardian for two years. _Her Spirit. _

Christine convinced herself of this enough to finally get up and use the bathroom. She couldn't convince herself enough to completely undress and take a shower, but she smeared a soft washcloth with soap and water, scrubbing it over her skin to remove the layers of sweat and grime. She wet her hair under the shower with her nightgown still on and rubbed a little shampoo into the tangled tresses. Still, she looked a mess in the mirror, her face pale except for several red blotches. Ever since she was a child, her pale skin would become splotchy when she became extremely afraid.

Shutting the door of the closet behind her and noticing with dismay that it couldn't be locked, Christine hesitated and then quickly removed her nightgown. It briefly occurred to her that there might be fresh undergarments in the outside dresser drawers, but she didn't want to ponder the thought for more than a moment. She put on a soft cotton slip and then a velvety midnight blue dress that buttoned all the way up to her neck and reached out to her wrists, loosely falling all the way to her ankles. The blessed Spirit would prefer the most modest dress, she told herself. Yet it was really a form of protection from those two yellow eyes….

_No. It's the Spirit. It's the Spirit. From God himself. He's out there, Christine. You mustn't think ill of Him, or He will know, right? He could see into her mind…._

She glanced at herself one last time in the mirror, struggling to appear calm and not the panicked mess that was bubbling on the inside. Maybe she could tell the Spirit that she wanted their previous arrangement of voice lessons in the little room-that this was too much for a poor mortal girl such as herself. _Maybe…. _

When she emerged, the living room she gazed into was empty. It looked surprisingly modern, more like the living room in Raoul's house than any of the simple homes in the community. The most notable object was a shiny black grand piano; it was the most beautiful instrument she'd ever seen. Two black leather sofas and a grey coffee table sat in the middle of the room. There was also a very large television with several other complex machines attached to it and enormous speakers that nearly reached the ceiling. The walls were bare except for a single painting of a bright sun over a barren dessert. It was too quiet. Lifeless. And there were no windows or any indication of a door that might lead to the outside.

After glancing around for any sign of the…Spirit, Christine shakily walked to the entrance of a small windowless room (or large closet) that was attached to the living area. Immediately, she was faced with shelves and shelves of books and movies. Hundreds or thousands of them. On her right, there was a blue screen with only the white words: "Press for song selection." Beside the screen were two speakers.

With wide eyes, she touched the screen.

"Please choose a category: 1960's, 1970's, 1980's, 1990's, 00's, 10's, 20's, Blues, Classical, Contemporary, Country, Jazz, Opera, Pop, R&B, Rap, Reggae, Rock…."

She stared at the choices and then she looked over the rest of the contents in the room, most of it completely foreign to her.

"Listen to whatever you like. This was an unlocked room, no?"

Christine jumped and turned around. The Spirit was standing behind her in the entryway, arms behind his back and head tilted. Now that she was standing as well, he seemed even taller. She would barely come up to his shoulders. Christine resisted the urge to back up into the nearest corner. "What is it?" she softly asked, gesturing toward the blue screen.

"My song collection," he replied. "All digital and of the highest auditory quality. I dislike ninety percent of it, but…it is a very complete collection, no?"

"But these are all forbidden," she whispered. "These books and the music and the movies are all from the Outside."

"I am the Spirit," he said with a shrug. "I must have all knowledge, good and evil, right?"

She hesitated and then nodded. "I…guess so." Perhaps the Spirit couldn't be corrupted by the Outside like the rest of them….

"And you must have this knowledge as well."

"What do you mean?"

He nodded toward his collection. "You are welcome to look at or listen to whatever you like. There are no restrictions. There is nothing there that will harm you." He paused. "The Spirit gives you permission."

Christine gaped, knowing it would take her years to get through all of it. Yet, if she hadn't been so terrified, she might have been up to the task. There was so much to see and read and listen to. But the Spirit was also now blocking the doorway, and this made her forget the collection altogether as her heart began to pound again.

"Before you begin your musical journey, would you enjoy something to eat?" He stepped out of the room, no longer preventing her from leaving. Still, her stomach was hurting, and she shook her head in reply. "Is there anything you want? I have spent months considering you might eventually arrive, as you can tell. Still, I may have been shortsighted when it comes to certain necessities. As a Spirit, I…sometimes forget what a mortal might need."

"Can I leave?" she asked more eagerly than she meant to. "I mean just to take a walk in the community or something like that. I promise I would come back."

"No. Not yet."

"Why?" she whispered, and then her voice grew in volume. "Why can't I return to my community? Is it because Raoul took me? I promise nothing sinful happened."

"Oh, I realize that, Christine." The Spirit's tone made her shiver. "That _boy_ has no idea what is in store for all of them. He is in far over his little head. But, no, his actions only rushed these circumstances. You did nothing wrong."

"Then why can't things be as they were? I would have come to you for my lessons every week. I don't need to be _here_. I want to see Mrs. Valerius."

"You know too much now, dear Christine. About the world. About everything. And you _should _know more. You are far above those in the community and will always be. I have chosen you for greater things. Now it is time to go forward and leave that pointless little life behind you."

She rapidly shook her head back and forth, hair flying in both directions, no longer able to contain her panic, even in front of the Spirit. "No, no, no! I want to leave here. I want you to be the Voice again."

"You will be allowed out in time. Calm yourself."

"_Please."_

"No. Not yet."

But she couldn't stop the tears from falling as she raced out of the little room. She ran left and tried another door, but it was locked. She sprinted to a door on her right, and that only led to a closet with folded towels, blankets, and sheets. She ran forward and into a simple kitchen; she raced backwards and encountered another locked door. The Spirit merely watched as she finally collapsed onto one of the black couches and buried her face in her hands, shaking and crying. "I want things back as they were," she said between sobs. "Please! Please just be the Spirit again! Please don't make me stay here! This doesn't make any sense!"

After allowing her to cry for several moments, he slowly knelt beside her. Christine tensed but kept her face buried. His voice was gentle when he spoke. "Do not cry, my beauty. Calm down. Do not cry. It is me. Your Spirit. I am still _your_ Spirit. Who has guided you for two entire years? Has your Spirit ever failed you, Christine? Have I ever been late to a lesson or disappointed you? Have I, my dear?"

"No," she whispered, finally gazing into those two strange eyes. "No, you haven't, Spirit."

"Then I will not disappoint you now. You will be very happy."

She looked away and wiped a hand over her sticky cheek. "I'm just…confused."

"Do you remember when I sang for you?"

"Oh, yes." She nodded. "I do. When I was so sad about my father one night, you sang for me."

"Would you like me to do so now?"

She nodded again. _Anything to numb the horrible confusion._

He played the piano and sang an unfamiliar foreign song in that tenor voice, and it was just as beautiful as it had been the first time. Hypnotizing and heavenly. _Spirit._ The music calmed her beating heart. When she closed her eyes and could just hear the voice, Christine could almost pretend that she was back in the magic room-that the Spirit was speaking to her from high above-that she wasn't where she was. And, when the music stopped, the silence was almost painful.

"Did you enjoy it?" he asked. She nodded with her eyes still closed. "It was from _Faust_. You should listen to opera while you are here. It would truly suit your voice."

She was about to ask if opera was forbidden but remembered his earlier words. There were new and bewildering rules to this world—no longer allowed outside but permitted to listen to anything she wanted. How could she understand any of it?

Christine finally dared to open her eyes. The Spirit had left the piano and was standing very near to her. A black gloved hand reached out to touch her cheek. With a cry, she hopped up and ran away into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. Because, deep down, she knew. Despite her lack of education, she was too smart _not_ to know.

Even if her conscious mind wouldn't yet admit it, her subconscious was raging at her. Her subconscious was rattling the bars of its prison and screaming in alarm.

_A man! Not a Spirit! He's a man! A masked man, and you're trapped here and all alone with him!_

Still, thirty minutes later, when he softly knocked on the door and asked, "Do you require anything, my beauty? Anything at all?"

She only replied, "No, Spirit. I just…I just want to be alone for a bit. I'm very tired."

A pause. "Then I will let you rest."

As she pressed her cheek to the pillow, not knowing whether it was morning, afternoon, or night, Christine knew nothing would ever be normal again.

* * *

"So you have her now."

"Yes."

"You are alone there with her."

"No, Mr. Lourdes. My wide circle of friends and family live there as well." The sarcasm was more biting than usual. The Spirit shifted from foot to foot, obviously agitated.

Cameron sighed and was, as always, careful with his words. Especially tonight, it was seemed that his mercenary was on the edge. "It is an…improper arrangement before marriage, as you are aware…."

The Spirit chuckled. "Ah. Do you suggest I drag her kicking and screaming down the aisle? That would certainly be the Community event of the year."

"No. But there must be a better way to go about it. We must be very careful with our women. As you know, little Abby's mother, my daughter-in-law, was a promiscuous and unholy woman. And look at where that got everyone." His son had killed himself; his daughter-in-law was no more. Little Abigail would grow up right, though. Cameron would see to that. Cameron would see that _all_ little boys and girls grew up right.

"I have been nothing but a voice to the child for the past two years," the Spirit snapped. "She's terrified as it is without you meddling into the situation. I need time with her. I need her to…_understand_." His tone was strange on the last word. There was more put into that word than Cameron dared to interpret.

"I trust you will ensure she continues with _our _teachings. I could get someone from morning services to assist in making sure that she remembers the principles of the community. He would, of course, be paid a large sum to remain silent about the situation."

The yellow eyes glared. "Cameron, I am going to give you half this horrid country to do as you like with. Leave the girl to me."

Cameron shifted. "I suppose…that will be the case. What else can be done with her now? She knows you aren't just a voice. That she has that knowledge is a rather frightening thought; women are terrible about secrets."

"She will be kept isolated until her silence is assured."

"You do intend to make the arrangement proper eventually?"

"Yes, when it is time."

"Then we will consider the matter resolved." Cameron turned to stare out the window that faced the closest part of the community, the most important part, the part with families and children. The glass was tinted so that he could see out, but no one could see inside. A golden sun shown down on identical brick homes with bright green yards now that spring had arrived. A mother and a daughter in identical yellow dresses were outside tending to a flower garden. _It was godly perfection._ A stark contrast to the frightening man standing behind him-who was ironically the only one that could turn the country into Cameron's perfect vision.

"And now to talk about your little show in that wealthy neighborhood," Cameron continued, turning around again. "At first…I was angry that you'd gone so far. Yet you didn't take any lives, and it created a perfect amount of chaos to send things over the edge. The feds are blaming some other group. I…think it was a very smart strategy."

"I thought you might, Mr. Lourdes. It is a trend I plan to continue."

Cameron nodded, unable to keep himself from turning back to the beautiful view again. In the garden with the mother and daughter, there were several butterflies fluttering around the flowers-two simple yellow ones, a black swallowtail, and a monarch. He squinted, unable to tell if any of them were real.

The spying devices perfectly resembled butterflies, hummingbirds, bees, and all sorts of little creatures, and the community was filled with thousands of them. The military had created the concept long ago. How the Spirit had managed to get his hands on the technology and perfect it even further—Cameron never asked. But they blended into the perfection and serenity of the community and kept him aware of any problems.

"Well, Erik, after that horrid affair with Christine and the Chagny family, I was worried. But everything seems to be back in order. Perfect, really. You are…well, an odd blessing to have around."

There was an odd glint in the yellow eyes, but the Spirit didn't reply. He left soon after, and Cameron sat down at his desk and rubbed his temples. It was still a concern of his as to how he would keep everything in place once the Spirit was gone. And so that was why the idea of giving Erik a wife had become more and more enticing.

Like a goat placed with an edgy horse, Cameron hoped having a godly, young, and well…attractive wife would keep the Spirit calmed and satisfied. Women could be very powerful motivators.

Still, as he watched the mother and daughter work, Cameron was also well aware that the fairer sex could be extremely destructive.

And so he would have to keep a careful eye on this situation.


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you so much for all the kind comments. I truly love reading all the feedback.

Regarding Erik, part of the mystery of the story are his intentions. If any of his reasoning/philosophy ever seems OOC when he speaks to Christine or Cameron—remember that he very well may be lying.

One lyric is borrowed from The Mamas & the Pappas.

_**Present Day**_

"Lena. Lena, look at me."

Her black curls tumbled into her eyes as she finally glanced up. "Mm?"

"Are you feeling okay?"

"Mhm."

"Did you hear what I said?"

She felt her heart sink into her stomach as the sentence left her lips. "You said…_maybe_ in eight years, give or take."

Her friend and family doctor of over twenty years nodded, his eyes sympathetic behind his glasses. She was so damned tired of sympathy. _Why wouldn't anyone help her? _"That's right. I don't want you getting yourself and that boy in any more messes."

"But I _won_ the lawsuit," she said, leaning forward. "We won easily. He lost his license."

"Lena, no surgeon should have been performing that procedure on a child. And you knew that. I _told_ you that a year ago. Even if that moron hadn't been half-drunk, things might have gone haywire. No one is going to touch your son until he's at least done developing."

"You're doctors!" She placed her face back into her hands, a migraine threatening to grip her brain. "You people are supposed to be able to fix this kind of thing. Transplants are supposed to fix things like this."

"And they can. They do. But not without risks. Maybe by the time he's ready, the procedure will be even better and—Oh, Lena. For God's sake, don't cry, sweetheart. It's going to be fine."

She shook her head. "I always wanted to be a mommy. I couldn't conceive, and _he_ blamed me for that. Then fertility drugs seemed to finally work. Oh, I was so happy! Remember when I called to tell you the news how happy I was? I pictured birthday parties and play dates and being one of those…those silly classroom moms who brought in crafts and cupcakes for all the kids. But now…." She looked into the distance. "He blames me for this, too, I think. But…." Lena leaned and whispered, "His second cousin was born with a cleft lip, so I think he could have been just as responsible."

"Neither of you are to blame. I doubt it was even a genetic problem."

"Tell him that." Lena softly moaned. "Oh, what am I going to do?"

There was a moment of silence before he placed a hand on her arm and said, "At least your son is alive."

_He could say that._ Behind him, she saw a picture of his beautiful family in a gold frame-a blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman and two matching twin girls in their teens. He didn't have to go home to a spouse who hated him and a son who stared up at him with those horrible, expectant, all too-intelligent eyes. _As though she could save him when she couldn't even save herself. _

"By the time someone will do it, it's going to be too late," she murmured in defeat.

"Too late for what?"

"For everything…."

"Lena, do you want me to get you some more help? There's this psychiatrist who-"

"No," she harshly interrupted. "No more of those. I'm tired of talking about my feelings. And I've been prescribed so many meds that I should start my own goddamned cartel. Unless you can give me the number of someone who will fix him, then you can't help me."

"Lena—"

"I'm going home."

He stood with her. "You'll call me if you…are feeling too bad?"

"Yes," she lied.

A numbness settled over her after she started her car. She let the vehicle idle for a few moments before backing out of the parking lot and turning onto the city streets, the sunshine bright and the skies blue. As a swing set and slide became visible, she turned into the lot of the familiar park and braked. For nearly thirty minutes, she sat with the air conditioning blowing over her, watching several children run around the playground, two redheaded boys and a little brunette girl. They tackled each other and then raced up the stairs to the plastic slide, giggling with dust stains on their hands and cheeks.

It took every ounce of energy that she had to finally leave and drive home. The three-story brick prison loomed over her as she walked up the driveway, black high heels clicking on the concrete. From the corner of her eye, she could see one of her neighbors staring at her. They hadn't talked in years-not since _that _day.

_Congratulations! Oh, Lena, you have to let me see your new baby. Well, why did you cover his face with a blanket? It's not that cold outside. _

_Please don't ask. I can't discuss it right now._

_What's wrong? You look so tired. I just wanted to see him. _

_Please, Katie. Leave me alone. I'll call you later._

Then the stupid woman had reached a manicured hand into the stroller and pulled the quilt back. With a wounded yelp, she'd whirled around and vomited right in the middle of the sidewalk. And then she'd apologized several times, backing away with tears and sweat running down her face. Katie had never asked to see the baby again, nor had she ever asked Lena back to one of her famous Tupperware parties.

Lena opened the heavy door and walked inside her home, wishing the high ceilings would form a vortex and swallow her up. _What an odd thought…._

Her husband immediately met her in the doorway, his pretty green eyes always full of unspoken accusations. He was over six feet tall and more handsome than she was beautiful, which made his cruelty all the more painful. He was also smarter than she was, an engineer for a multibillion dollar aerospace corporation. She felt like a pathetic little mouse in his presence.

"Where is he?" she asked, looking down as she pulled off her heels.

"In his room. Where else would he be?"

"I was just asking." She sniffed. "What would you like for dinner? I think there's some steak in the freezer, so I could-"

"I'm going out." He walked past her toward the door, car keys jingling in his hand.

"Please don't leave me here all alone tonight," she begged, her cold demeanor disintegrating into desperation. "Please. You don't even have to talk to me. Just please don't leave me alone."

"I've been here alone for four hours! Hell, I stayed here for an entire month with him while you had your little meltdown last year. Deal with it, Lena. Take your pills, and learn to deal. You're such an emotional mess that I don't even know what to do with you anymore." He shrugged her off of him as she grabbed his shoulder. "I'll be back before dark."

"You're going out to play with some slut, aren't you?"

He laughed coldly as he walked outside. "Ha! Yes. You know me. All I need is another woman screaming in my ear."

"I hate you!"

He didn't respond. The car started with a roar.

In stocking clad feet, she stood in the middle of the entranceway. The clock ticked steadily on the wall, its gold pendulum swinging back and forth. As seven o' clock approached, Lena felt something crumble deep within her mind. _Hopelessness._ A soft, melodious laugh escaped her throat. There was freedom in hopelessness.

_Snap!_

She ascended two flights of plushy carpeted stairs, each one creaking beneath her feet. Lena softly sang a ballad to herself, a love song that was currently playing on the radio. That was why he'd married her, she believed. Both her speaking and singing voice had always been described as delightful when she was a little girl—and then seductive as she'd reached adulthood. Her talent combined with somewhat pretty features had snatched her a four-star husband.

And he hated her.

She felt strangely calm now. At peace even. Slowly raising her right hand, she knocked on the door of the bedroom on the third floor, right below the attic. The cool air crept down and brushed against her arms, creating rows of goose bumps on her skin.

The door slowly opened, and her son looked up at her expectantly.

"Come with me. We're going for a nice little drive."

* * *

_**2038**_

Although it was tempting, Christine knew she couldn't stay in the room forever.

She'd already stuck her face underneath the bathroom sink twice when the dryness in her mouth became too much to bear. By the dull ache forming in her head and stomach, she also knew that physical hunger was going to set in soon.

The door didn't lock, and so there was no real safety in being in there. Maybe it simply felt more secure.

Despite her recently sheltered life, she wasn't completely naïve to what strange men could do, shadow men or otherwise. At age five, her mother had given her a very brief description after the "Where do babies come from?" question. The education was furthered when one of her friends in first grade had triumphantly claimed at a slumber party: "You guys, my older sister told me what _sex_ is!" Amongst giggles and whispers, they'd flopped onto their sleeping bags as she'd described the mechanics of it.

Ever since she'd joined the community, _it_ had always been something that unmarried girls simply never did-something done only after you were married to make children. Under any other circumstances, it was a grave sin, and young women had been confined to isolation for even minor acts of flirtation, batting their eyes too much or puckering their lips. She had never gotten into trouble for any of those acts. The Spirit had become her sole focus as she approached adulthood, and Christine forgot any sinful little crushes she might have had on younger men in the community.

But now that she knew the truth about the Spirit, she became well aware of the possible dangers. Still, the shadow man stayed out of the room, only asking every several hours if she was in need of anything. She was at his mercy, but he had done nothing yet.

_Yet._

Christine placed her head in her hands and rubbed her temples with her palms. Her head was becoming foggy, and there was nothing in the room to distract her. All she had were a billion questions and fears tumbling through her mind. If he wasn't a real Spirit, then what was all this? Who was he? Was there a Spirit somewhere else? What did Cameron know? Was this all some type of cruel test to assess her purity? _Why was this happening to her?!_

She finally gathered her shattered nerves and left the room again, still having no idea as to what time of day it was. What kind of home had no clocks or windows? As before, Christine didn't see him upon first emerging. Her gaze wandered to the locked doors, and she wondered which one led to the exit. And, if she did manage to get out, where were they? Somewhere on the Outside? Somewhere scary?

Hugging her arms to her chest despite the pleasant temperature of the home, Christine walked back to the closet with the collections. There was something calming about that room, as though she might be able to escape into it, into the stories and the music. Before she could explore it further, she saw him come out from behind one of the locked doors. He closed it behind him, causing the lock to softly click into place again, and nodded at her. "Ah. You have decided to come out. That is good. You must eat something, or you will become weak."

She stared at him for a moment, warily taking in his appearance. "How long will I have to stay here?"

"As I've indicated, it depends on how fast you acquire the necessary knowledge. How fast your voice improves. It depends on _you_."

"But we're on the Outside?"

He hesitated and then said, "In a sense."

Even if she were to escape, she'd have no idea where to go. Unless…_Raoul._ Her old friend's name chimed like a bell in her mind. Raoul was on the outside. And he had warned her…. A lump formed in her throat as she wondered if he had been right about everything. "_I don't want you to be hurt if you ever find out that…your Spirit isn't what you think it is. Like if it's Cameron manipulating you."_

Before she had another panic attack, Christine quickly cleared her mind and tried to stay calm, which was very difficult under the shadow man's constant gaze. He never seemed to blink. "I want to go in there." She firmly pointed to the closet.

"Then do so. You may have a day or two to do as you like before we officially begin. Still, I will fetch you a small snack to take in with you."

Turning away from him without another word, she closed the door to the little room halfway and, after checking to make sure that he wasn't following her, began to play with the blue screen. Despite her limited technological knowledge, it wasn't too difficult to figure out. Going through the lists of genres and artists, she began to sample one song from each category, all the while waiting for him to come in and scold her. Christine was testing the boundaries and rules-wondering if he would really allow her to see and listen to _anything_ she wanted. Surely, he would tell her she was being sinful at some point, especially as she listened to the louder songs with words that certainly weren't allowed within the community.

At some level, she _wanted_ him to become angry at her—to show that his new rules were nothing but a lie—to show that the Spirit was a big lie. She secretly wanted a confrontation where every question was answered and every truth was revealed.

But he never came in.

_Or wait. _He had come in, she noticed, and left a white glass plate with crackers, cheddar cheese, and green apple slices by the door. But then he'd left without a sound.

Christine shuddered at how silent he was in his movements. Feeling her stomach churn, she picked up one of the cheese slices, studied it to make sure nothing appeared…strange, and then took a bite. Her fear took away most of the flavor, but her mind and stomach were soothed as she swallowed the food. She could think more clearly now at least. Sitting on the carpet, she ate the entire plate.

Once in a while, she would recognize a song from long ago. Listening to some of the music from the 1960's category, she recalled a tune that her now deceased grandfather would often play in the car, a nostalgic smile on his wrinkled face. _"They don't make 'em like this anymore, kiddo."_ The harmony was kind of pretty, and she closed her eyes and listened to the song a couple of times, thinking of the past and temporarily escaping the present. "_On such a winter's day…."_

Finally, the door opened all the way, and the shadow man stood in the entrance. She flinched out of her daydream and nearly crawled away from the black shoes. _Would he yell at her now? Ask how she could be taking pleasure from the sinful music? Finally reveal this all to be Cameron's test of morals?_ Her heart pounded as she stared up at him.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" he asked. There was no anger in the question.

"There's so much of it," she softly replied, forcing herself to stand.

"Yes. Music has survived all of mankind's struggles over the centuries, ever evolving, sometimes for the worse."

"Aren't you mad?" she couldn't help but ask.

For the first time, she saw him blink. "Why would I ever be angry with you, my beauty?"

"Because I _want_ to listen to all of this. And I _like_ some of it. I like some of the songs that have…_sinful _words."

He tilted his head. "I expected you would. There is a wide assortment, and you should hear all of it."

A cascade of frustration overtook her. He was completely calm. After years of being told what a disobedient girl she was because of her yearnings for the outside, the Spirit shadow man didn't care in the slightest.

"I want to watch a movie," she said, unable to keep a note of defiance out of her voice. It was her last card, and she already knew it wasn't going to work.

"Ah. That will lessen your tension as well; I see it in your face and shoulders. You are still so very anxious."

"I don't know how to work that." She walked out of the room, pointing at the television and all the machines that were attached to it. Now he would have to assist her in sin.

"I suppose you wouldn't, would you? Very well." He pushed a few buttons, and the machine hummed to life. "What do you want to view?"

She gaped at him and then said the name of the only movie she remembered. "_The Wizard of Oz._"

He chuckled at this. "Somehow that fits you, no?"

She had no idea what he meant by that. The shadow man placed a small disk into a slot and closed it. And then he left her on the couch with the movie playing, just as her mother had done when she was a child. So she watched, sitting on the sofa and defeated. His rules were solid; nothing she did rattled him, and this was maddening. She watched as the black and white movie turned into a beautiful colored world of munchkins, witches, and the giant talking head. "There's no place like home."

It was with trepidation that Christine realized some time had passed since she'd shared that sentiment. She'd hated being in the community when her father was alive; it had certainly never felt like _home._ She hadn't hated living with Mrs. Valerius, but her mind had always been with the Spirit during her two years there. Mrs. Valerius' house had been more like a guesthouse until…. Well, until the Spirit's plans came to fruition.

_And now they had._ Christine shivered as she realized that, in the back of her mind, she'd always been waiting for the Spirit to save her from the normal requirements of women in the community. She'd partly walked into this odd situation because the thought of being married off at twenty-one and forced to bear ten children, of being trapped in the community forever, had been terrifying. _More terrifying than this, though—than being imprisoned in a home with a shadow man who was going to do God knew what…? _Her heart raced, and she closed her eyes to keep the panic attack away. There was no room for hopelessness right now.

Several minutes after the movie ended, Christine rose up from the black sofa and turned around. He was already watching her, arms folded.

"Which door goes outside?" she asked. "I just want to stick my head out for air. _Please._ Just for fresh air. I promise."

"There is no door."

"What do you mean?" She couldn't stop the anger from creeping into her voice.

"The exit is through the ceiling, and I will not show you the mechanics of that yet."

"That can't be true! I bet it's behind one of the locked doors."

"No. Those are my offices."

"I'm going to lose my mind," she told him, hands curling into fists. "If you don't let me get air, I'm going to lose my mind."

"You will not. You survived the confines of the community for over a decade, and you did not go mad of claustrophobia. That was no easy feat. You are not a weakling."

"Why are you doing this to me?" she whispered.

"I have told you, my beauty. You have a destiny that must be fulfilled. We have a destiny."

"Why _me_?"

"You are questioning the choice of your Spirit?"

_You are not my Spirit. _She didn't know if she was ready that confrontation yet, though. Instead, she asked, "What's the quickest way I can get out? What can I do right now so that you'll let me out, even for a moment?"

"I suppose… if we begin your voice lessons. That is where we will start."

Jaw clenched, she nodded. "Fine. Then let's begin."

She saw a glint of delight within the yellow eyes. "Yes? Very well, then. We will begin today if you are so eager." He walked to the piano and sat down at the bench. She noticed that he removed his gloves to play and was startled by the sight of his bare hands. They were bony and pale, his spidery fingers long enough to reach all across the black and white keys. "Warm ups?" She forced herself to stop staring at them and nodded. Her voice shook with fear and anger as she began to sing the familiar scales.

After only a minute in, he stopped playing and stared at her. "You are not even trying."

"Yes, I am."

"No. You are screaming rather than singing. It is the worst I've ever heard you. No. This won't do at all, Christine."

"Maybe I'm not as good as you think I am."

"Of course you are! I have listened to you for two years. Your voice is divine, my dear. In a different time, you would have been a star. Perhaps you are still tired?"

"No," she murmured.

"Thirsty?"

She hesitated. "Maybe a little."

"Then I will get you water. You should have really asked, Christine. You are always welcome to these things in my home." He slipped his gloves back on and rushed away. With slumped shoulders, she followed him into the kitchen. Once again, the room was more like the one in Raoul's home, modern with a microwave and several other metallic complex cooking devices. It was also nearly spotless.

"Don't you eat or drink?" she asked. He watched her as she put the glass to her lips, and it made her nervous. Why was he always staring? He had also set another plate of cheese and crackers in front of her.

"Only when this mortal body requires it. Which is very rarely."

"So Spirits don't need food?"

"Of course not."

She couldn't stand the charade any longer. "Can you disappear?"

He tilted his head. "You wish me to go away while you drink your water?"

"_No._ I mean really magically disappear in front of me. You used to just be a voice from heaven. And now—now I can see you. It would seem like a simple thing for you to vanish and reappear again."

He stared at her so long and hard that she grew frightened and looked away.

"Perhaps at another time. The mortal body limits me," he finally replied. "I can do other tricks for you!" He paused. And then, suddenly, the plate of crackers and cheese was talking to her. "Greetings, Christine!" it exclaimed. She flinched and stared down at the food, mouth falling open. "Perhaps after you eat and drink, your voice will improve again? And then you will sing beautifully for your Spirit, won't you?" She remembered people in the community claiming that objects had spoken to them. And now she was again wondering if there was something supernatural about this…person. _What was he?_

She cautiously continued her interrogation, ignoring the talking plate. "What's Mrs. Valerius doing right now?"

"What?"

"Can't you see her? Can't you see everything?"

"_Yes._ When I choose to see. Calm down, dear girl. Why do you make such silly demands?"

"Because I know you're not a Spirit!" she exclaimed, jumping to her feet with a cry of frustration. "A Spirit wouldn't live in a house like this with a kitchen. Or have a television and all that music. Or any of this! And you can't disappear or see what's happening. You can't be the Spirit!"

"Christine…." He softly sighed and reached a gloved hand out toward her. She drew back, glaring as tears formed in her eyes. His hand fell away. "What do you think I am?"

"I don't know," she murmured. "What else could you be besides a man?"

He laughed in a way that made her question her safety. "But you are very wrong about that as well. I have _never_ been a man."

She squinted. "Then what are you?"

His right index finger drew a slow clockwise circle on the wooden table. "Consider me a spiritual…_advisor_ to Cameron Lourdes. With minor powers, as you can see." The plate said the last sentence.

"Is there a Spirit?" she asked, already knowing the answer. "A real Spirit from heaven?"

"No. There is only me."

"Does Cameron know this?"

"Yes."

"_Why?"_ she angrily whispered, leaning forward and gripping the table. "Why would you both lie to all of us?"

"Ah. Yes. You will come to understand that while you are here. I will teach you. "

"Tell me now."

"No. It is not time yet." She slumped into the chair as the tears began to fall again, as the truth was laid out before her. There was nothing left to believe in now-nothing left to save her. "I would never intentionally hurt you, my beauty," he continued. "Never. I want you to sing for me. I want you to learn. And then you will understand the necessity of it all, I promise." She refused to look at him. "Christine. I am still your Spirit. Let me know when you wish to begin your lessons again. Nothing has changed. You may only leave here when your voice has reached new heights—when you understand."

He left the kitchen, and she stared blankly at the table, unsure of where to go from there. She wanted to cry and scream at him, but all that would get her was, _"Calm down, my beauty."_ He was frustratingly composed and unyielding, and it was like yelling at a concrete wall.

Was it possible Cameron didn't know that the Spirit wasn't real? That was unlikely. When she escaped, should she warn the people of the community? Or should she simply try to run away and forget all of it? Should she find Raoul? All of the options seemed flawed and dangerous in their own way. But she could do nothing while she was still trapped down in that strange little home.

"I'm ready to sing again," she said, walking into the living area thirty minutes later. He was already seated at the piano, flipping through a paper book of music."

He glanced up. "Excellent. I was examining possible song choices for you. You will _greatly_ please your Spirit with many of these."

"No." She shook her head. "I don't want to call you _Spirit _anymore. What's your name?"

He shifted. "The more you know of me, the less happy you will be."

"What's your name?"

"You will not yield, will you? Cameron said that you were once a stubborn little girl, and it seems he was right. You will not speak it to another soul?"

"I won't," she promised.

"You may call me Erik."

"Erik," she repeated. His eyes seemed to soften when he said it—only to reignite when she then asked, "Are you ever going to show me your face?"

"_No."_

Despite the iciness of his response, she continued, "Why? I know you're not a Spirit now. And I don't think that I could be any less happy than I already am…after all this. I'm sure your face won't matter. "

Instantly, she regretted saying it. Erik turned around and grabbed her wrist with such speed that Christine again wondered if he did possess magical powers. "Oh, my face wouldn't simply make you unhappy," he said in a soft voice that was so terrible it nearly brought her to her knees. "It would kill you, darling. And you wouldn't be able to fulfill your destiny if you were dead, would you?" She gaped at him, the leather digging hotly into her skin. "_Would you?"_

"No," she whispered, shaking her head back and forth. _"Please."_

He released her and threw his shoulders back. It had been the first time she'd seen him off balance, and she never wanted to see it again. _Ever._ When he spoke, his voice was gentle and collected. "Are you ready to begin?"

"Yes." Her voice trembled. And she sang for her freedom. She sang for her life.

"There," he stated. "_Yes._ There we go. There's that heavenly voice. Now we can finally begin, my beauty."


	9. Chapter 9

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Although Raoul attempted to forget Christine, a slow depression crept over him in the days following her disappearance. He felt a little sick to his stomach, and the world seemed even grayer than it had before. If he couldn't even rescue one friend from the madness, how he could he save any part of the country? It was all starting to seem kind of hopeless. Then again, there was freedom in hopelessness—freedom to get the hell out of there.

Phillip, maybe sensing that Raoul was a little down in the dumps, had dragged him to the mountains while he attended a secret meeting at a supposedly abandoned lodge. Wealthy businessmen and government officials had established havens like this that were somewhat hidden from the rest of the world. Some were on mountain peaks around old ski resorts or in cushy underground basements. While the more hostile activist groups may have been aware of their existence, they didn't know the exact locations. There were always armed bodyguards around the perimeter in case any emergencies did come up.

While Phillip was secluded in his meeting, Raoul hiked around the overgrown trails for a bit, taking in the cleaner, crisp air and stretching his muscles. It always felt great to escape the confines of the decaying city. He had to be a little careful because there were known to be some survivalists up in these mountains-people who had given up on civilization and were living off the land. He kept an eye out, knowing that they wouldn't hesitate to aim a shotgun at him for trespassing.

After surviving his hike, he met Phillip at the front of the lodge. They were served glasses of red wine on the wooden front porch. Sara Lee was supposed to be meeting them at any time. Phillip had bought her transportation, along with a couple of bodyguards, thinking they might make a romantic weekend of it. Raoul sort of felt like the third wheel, but it was better than staying at home and sulking.

"Did you have a good day out there?" Phillip asked, stretching his legs out.

"It was cool," Raoul replied. "One with nature and all that. I really miss going hiking and camping like we used to do with Dad."

"Yeah. So do I."

"Did you have fun at your meeting?" Raoul asked.

"Oh yeah. Tons of it."

"Anything new and interesting?"

Phillip sighed and lowered his voice. "Well, Senator Robinson is secretly buying up a ton of tickets in case he needs to get his extended family out of the country. I hear a lot of others are doing the same. Not really a surprise, though, with the increase in violence lately. Sixty-four people were killed in Philadelphia last night. Fifty-five in Boston. No wonder people have been pouring into Cameron's place like it's a refugee camp. I hear he can't build new housing fast enough. Bastard."

Raoul shook his head. "Why don't we just go in there and blow his home to pieces? It seems like he's a genuine threat now."

"That type of action would cause so much rioting that we'd be under martial law faster than you could blink. Plus-" Phillip suddenly looked extra grim.

"Plus what?"

"Eh…this is kind of a secret but…it's looking likely that some of our military might not think he's such a bad guy."

"Jesus."

"Yeah. It's all pretty shadowy right now. You don't really know whose side anyone is on. And now that you have these explosions going off every day, there's even more chaos. People blame the current government for not controlling it. Cameron starts to look like some sort of savior. It's bad." Phillip shook his head. "That girl didn't tell you anything useful, did she?"

"Not really," Raoul murmured. "She definitely believed in the Spirit-said it even spoke to her. Weird, huh?"

"She actually interacted with…it? First time I've heard of that. Damn. I wish I'd had a chance to talk with her."

"Do you believe in it?" It wasn't that Raoul did, but he was beginning to think Meg had been right about there being a bigger force at play.

"Of course I don't believe in the Spirit," said Phillip with a loud laugh. "Do _you_?"

"Nah. I just—"

"Hey, Sara Baby!" Phillip hopped up and waved.

"Phil. How are you?" she asked, long, wavy blonde hair falling over her shoulders and fluttering in the mountain breeze. As usual, her clothes weren't quite appropriate for the setting, a short red dress that fitted tightly around her attractive form. Sara had actually been a fashion model when there were still opportunities for that line of work. Her great-grandfather had started an automobile company decades ago, and so she was well within the world of "old money."

She stayed in the country because of Phillip, but Raoul had sensed an edge to her from the beginning of the short relationship. Although she was smiling at them, her green eyes seemed dull.

"I'm good," Phillip replied, sounding a little more upbeat. They shared a quick kiss. "How about you?"

"Fine," she replied in a way that made Raoul guess everything was not so fine. "Hey, Raoul. How are you?"

"Couldn't be better," he lied.

Phillip wasn't completely ignorant to women-speech either. "Are you sure you're fine, babe? You look kind of tired." She shrugged. "Can I get you something to drink? I don't know if they have much of a cocktail selection, but…."

"No. I won't be here very long."

"I thought you were staying the night."

She took a slow seat next to him. Folding her hands in her lap, she looked up again with a grim frown of determination. "For the last week, my roommates and I have spent most nights huddled in our basement listening to people scream at each other. And gunshots."

Phillip took her limp hand. "Why didn't you tell me? I would have gotten you more security."

"Phillip, I live in one of the nicest neighborhoods in the city. You can't get much more secure. And it's still terrifying!"

"All right, all right. Let me see if I can bring you to my mom's house. Shouldn't be a problem."

"Your neighborhood was just firebombed," she angrily replied, drawing her hand away. "It's not safe. Nowhere is. And I'm…I'm leaving tomorrow. I'm going to London, where the rest of my family is. This isn't a place for people like us."

"People like what?"

"You know…." She shook her head and then gave up on trying to be nice about it. "Wealthy, intelligent, _sane_ people."

"That's a crappy attitude," Phil replied. Raoul knew the relationship was about to go up in smoke.

"I don't care!" she shot back. "I don't care if I sound like a snob or a bitch or anything else you want to throw at me. I'm too tired and scared to care. And you're always busy anyway."

"Yeah. I'm busy trying to fix this horror show. You think I enjoy dealing with it? You think I'm having fun?"

"I don't know," she murmured. "I get that it's your mission. But…it's not mine. I'm sorry."

"I get it," he replied, looking away.

"I didn't want to hurt you, Phil." He shrugged and stared forward, hiding his pain. "Well, I told my driver to wait here because I figured you'd be angry. My flight leaves tomorrow night. So I guess…this is goodbye."

He finally looked at her, eyes tired. "Goodbye, Sara. Good luck. I mean it. I…hope everything works out."

She stood, bent down, and kissed his cheek. "If you're ever in London, please call me. And, maybe if there's a miracle, I can come back here someday."

"Yeah. A miracle. Because that's what's going to fix everything."

They both watched her go, red heels clicking against the wood and down the driveway. Phillip shook his head and finished his glass of wine in one long swig. "We were never right for each other anyway," he said after five minutes of staring at the spot where Sara had stood. "She's way too high maintenance."

"Maybe she's not so wrong about some stuff," Raoul replied, a heavy feeling in his chest.

"What?"

"Maybe it's time to consider our own exit plan."

Raoul expected Phillip to launch into a tirade about his duties to the country. Instead, Phillip set his glass down and said, "Well, I'll at least make sure Mom can get out if she wants. Might as well be a realist."

They sat in silence for awhile, staring off into the thick trees and lost in their own thoughts. Raoul softly laughed as something caught his eyes. "Look at that." A monarch butterfly had landed on the arm of his wooden chair, its sunset orange and black wings fluttering every so often.

"Yeah, we actually had one of those little guys fly right into our meeting. Maybe the pollution has been messing with the wildlife. Nice to see a little color, though."

"Yeah." Raoul sighed.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." He hesitated. "No one ever found out what happened to Christine, did they? You didn't have anyone investigate or anything?"

"Nah. Sorry, bro. People have too much to deal with. I know you miss her, but, like I said, she didn't seem all that happy to be out of there."

"It's all right," said Raoul. "Just…hard to let go. Hard to deal with it all."

"I know," said Phillip. "Dad would have wanted us to hang on for a little while longer, though…."

"Maybe."

In silence, they watched as the butterfly moved off the chair, hovered in the air for several seconds, and then flew away.

* * *

The pieces that Erik chose for her were by far the most challenging songs she'd ever attempted, ten times more difficult than the hymns she'd sung for the community. The vocal ranges and jumps between notes were much wider, and even the rhythms threw her off key. It seemed like Erik interrupted her every other note to make corrections, which created even more frustration. If she hadn't been so angry that this entire situation was outside of her control, Christine might have been more proud during the times that she did succeed.

"Will I be singing these for someone?" she asked, exhaustion creeping into her voice. It was the first time she'd really spoken to him that afternoon, communicating with nods of her head whenever he corrected her. After his reaction to her desire to see his face, she was treading carefully.

"Not in the near future."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You will continue to be the voice and face of the community, and so you will sing those simple repetitive songs." He paused. "But there will come a point when the rules begin to change. And then you will sing as you were meant to."

"And Cameron won't mind?" The thought of doing anything on Cameron's behalf was revolting. She didn't dare say that, though, for fear it would harm her chances of freedom.

"Cameron will listen to my sage advice." His tone was odd, and she wasn't sure if there was humor in the statement. "Sing only for yourself right now. Forget the rest of them, on the inside and the outside." She nodded and yawned against her will. "It is time for you to sleep, I think."

"What time is it?"

"Nighttime."

Christine nodded again while inwardly rolling her eyes at his vagueness and, without another word, went back to her room. She hadn't wished him _goodnight _because her night was going to be far from pleasant—and it was all his fault. After closing the door, she quickly undressed and pulled out fresh undergarments from the drawers, along with a clean white cotton nightgown. With a sigh, she fell into the bed, pulling the sheets and covers around her.

Her sleep was far from restful, her dreams shadowy and haunting. When Christine woke, she groaned to see where she was and placed a hand against her clammy forehead. A cold sweat had soaked into her nightgown and the sheets.

For at least an hour, she lay in bed and considered her options. It seemed impossible to find the magical exit through the ceiling without Erik knowing, and then to further make her way through the enormous and terrifying world to find Raoul. And then to come up with a brilliant plan to make everything…okay again. She didn't even know what _okay_ meant anymore. It all seemed so hopeless that Christine didn't want to get out of bed.

The sound of the piano finally brought her to her feet, a beautiful legato piece that suddenly reached a crescendo as she approached the door. The song then softened, almost seductive now. She opened her door as quietly as possible and tiptoed out of the room, watching as the Spirit's fingers flew across the keys with ease and grace. _No,_ a_ man. He had to be. _ A very unusual, talented, frightening, mysterious man.

She stood there nearly hypnotized by the music, wishing it would wrap around her like a cape and carry her away from all the confusion. When the song ended, Erik turned to look at her. When their eyes met, Christine ran back into the bedroom and shut the door with a crash.

She took a two-minute shower, all the while listening carefully to her surroundings over the rushing water to make sure the door didn't open. Christine slipped on another modest dress, this one a dark purple with silver buttons down the front. While in the closet, she noticed for the first time that there were also several pairs of black slacks and one pair of blue jeans, along with a couple of blouses and sweaters. _Great. More new rules to confuse her._ She brushed her tangled hair, pushed it back with a magenta headband, and decided she looked somewhat human again. At least her skin was no longer splotchy and her eyes weren't bloodshot.

"You slept for nearly twelve hours," he said when she came out. She was grateful that he didn't mention their strange first encounter that morning. "I was rather concerned that you had died."

She blinked. "I'm…sorry?"

"Do not be sorry. The last few days have been rather exhausting for you. Come and eat. Today we will begin your other lessons."

"For my voice?" She wasn't sure if she was ready for another day of endless criticism, even if it did earn her freedom.

"Not right now." As he led her into the kitchen and placed a bowl of o-shaped cereal in front of her, she anxiously wondered what he was talking about. Her question was answered when he dropped a pile of thick, heavy books on the table with a thud. "You will read these."

With wide eyes, she stared down at them. There was biology, anatomy, American history, world history….

"They are not ideal, full of biases and half-truths," he said. "But they are what is left in this country and will do for now."

Her heart fell a little. "It'll take forever to get through all these. I have to read through _all_ of this before you'll let me out?" She'd be a grey-haired old woman.

"No. Your voice and understanding are essential to you being permitted out. Not this. The academic lessons will take some time."

"Why?" she softly asked, tracing a finger over the cover.

"Why will they take time?"

"No. Why do you want me to learn all this? No one in the community ever did…."

"As I have told you dozens of times, you are far superior to them. So long as you are in my company, you will be safe from their restrictions. And I do not want your ignorance." He paused and then asked, "Do you not want to know more? Are you content with the knowledge you have?"

"No," she finally admitted with a sigh. "I'd…like to know more. I always have."

He left her at the table and, after sitting there bewildered for several more moments, Christine picked up one of the history books. At least she recognized the man on the front cover as the first president of the United States. For the first time in over a decade, she didn't have to look over shoulder to make sure no one was watching her "learn more than was good for a young lady." She half-relaxed and began the first chapter of each book, reading until her mind couldn't absorb any more facts. She already knew some things but not in as much detail as the books were providing- the colonization of the United States, the systems of the body, the beginning of civilization. Sometimes she could feel Erik watching her. He would dart into different rooms and close the door, always busy with some mysterious task.

She wanted to keep reading both out of a hunger for information and a mental escape from the insanity around her, but her sight finally became blurry. Christine set the books aside and took a sip of water, staring at the table and feeling a little lost.

"Do you have questions?" he asked.

She looked up, startled that he was even in the room. "What?"

"Questions from your reading?"

"No. I think I understood it all."

"Yes. You are a bright girl. You do not have the dead eyes of the others in the community."

"Um, thank you…." Christine could sense that he was also intelligent-by his speech and even by his eyes. Despite her anger and fear, she could feel her curiosity growing. "Did you have a lot of schooling?" she softly asked.

"My education was non-traditional. But I am well-informed."

"Did you have a job? I mean, before you became Cameron's…advisor."

He laughed, and it was a musical sound. "Do not bore yourself with the banal details of my life, my beauty. Not when there are so many other things to learn."

Again, it was like trying to knock down a brick wall, and she quickly gave up. "I'd like a break to listen to the music again."

"Of course." He motioned for her to leave.

"This is like my recess," she sadly joked as she walked past him, remembering running around the playground. Erik didn't say anything; maybe he'd never had recess. She returned to the little room and explored the "Blues" category, letting the smooth music wash over her and taking any mental break she could get.

That afternoon (or she guessed it was afternoon—for all Christine knew, it was midnight) she sang, and it seemed to please him. "Already an improvement," he stated, eyes shining. "Now that you are not confined to that wretched little room, you will progress much faster."

"I liked the little room," she replied, too worn out to be dishonest. "I looked forward to those lessons every week."

"Did you?" He actually seemed a little surprised.

"I miss the Spirit," she murmured, looking down. "Even if the Spirit wasn't real…."

"But you knew, didn't you?" he asked in a gentle voice. "That the Spirit was not what they all said it to be. You knew, Christine. I could always see it in your eyes."

"No." She clenched her jaw. "Well, I…I guess I didn't want to think about it very much. When you spoke to me, you weren't like the rest of them-boring and mindless. That alone made you magical. That was enough. And you _were_ my friend. "She swallowed past the knot in her throat. "I _did_ trust you."

"Are you so unhappy in my home?"

"It has nothing to do with your home. I love all the books and music. And even the singing. But you won't let me out, even for air, and that makes me sick to my stomach. Half the time, I still wonder if this is some sort of awful test to see whether I'm really a good girl. I guess I don't pass, right?"

"It is no test, Christine. I promise you that."

"If it's not a test, then why don't you tell me what it is?"

"In time," was his only reply.

In anger, she threw up her hands and retreated to the bedroom. Remembering the incident regarding his face, she nervously wondered if he might yell at her. Erik didn't; it seemed only questions regarding his appearance made him act crazily.

As always he left her alone while she sulked, and Christine again emerged on her own time. And such began a sort of pattern. She preferred to read the textbooks after waking up, when her mind was fresh and able to grasp various concepts. After she ate lunch, their vocal lessons would begin. Sometimes he was harsh, and sometimes he was pleased. She was never sure if his moods were truly dependent on her talent or if his personality was simply volatile. When he told her that she was doing well, she would sometimes ask, "Well enough to take a walk?"

"It is not time," was his constant reply.

Sometimes she would hide away in her room for several hours, lying on her stomach with her face buried in the pillow. She would cry, mostly from frustration and the fear of not knowing where this path was going to lead her. She'd cried for similar reasons in the community at times, feeling trapped and helpless. Really, she'd never felt all that in control of her own life. At least she was allowed to mentally escape in Erik's home, into stories and songs. At least he never told her she was being a sinful girl for doing so.

Her spare time was spent looking through the fictional books on his shelves, everything from 1800's and 1900's classics to a few more modern novels, or listening to the assortment of music. For some reason, her desire to watch the movies was less strong, although she did occasionally view a few from her youth.

With all of this at her disposal, she slowly began to form a picture of the Outside in her mind—or at least of what it had been like until the last horrible couple of years. People had gone to school and then gotten jobs of their choices and then some fell in love and got married and had several children. And some preferred not to do those things at all. People danced and sang and went to movies and concerts and sometimes drank too much alcohol. They took their children to zoos and parks and museums. They celebrated holidays and birthdays and played games and watched sports. A government made laws and police ensured people were safe, but, to a large degree, everyone did as they wanted. They had control.

The World didn't sound so terrible. It was mostly the exciting and happy place that she remembered from her youth. Only recently had the Outside become frightening.

One (she guessed) morning, Christine came out and sat down at the kitchen table. Usually, he greeted her with breakfast and books, but she was alone this time. It was difficult to say when Erik left the home, but he likely went out while she was sleeping or sulking in the bedroom. Christine certainly never saw him jump through a magical hole in the ceiling. It dawned on her that the ceiling exit was probably behind one of the locked doors, making it even more impossible for her to escape.

With a shrug, she opened a book and settled into her normal pattern. He came into the kitchen about an hour later, and she noticed that he seemed agitated, fingers curled and gait less smooth. He sharply glanced at her as though surprised. "I had not intended on taking so long."

"That's…okay." _I just wish you'd let me out once in awhile…. _"Erik, how long have I been here?" she asked, afraid of the answer.

"A little over a week," he replied.

Christine winced. "And Mrs. Valerius knows I'm okay?"

"Yes. She knows you are in the care of the Spirit." He seemed distracted as he turned away. "Have you had food?"

"No, but I'm okay."

"You already eat like a little bird. Let's not worsen it." He pulled a carton of eggs from the refrigerator so forcefully that she was afraid he'd broken them all. When he opened it, the eggs were still intact.

"Hey, Erik?" She didn't know why she started the conversation that morning, especially when her captor didn't even seem to be in the best of moods. Maybe it was loneliness or curiosity. She simply felt like talking to another human being and was tired of their two syllable interactions.

"Yes?"

"I noticed that the history book only goes to 2030…."

He gave a short laugh. "You're that far already?"

"No. I got curious and looked ahead. But I was wondering where the rest of it was."

"Yes, it is difficult to find later material. At least later material that is of any use and not a bunch of lies. The best books for that time are in foreign languages and awaiting translation."

"Do you speak other languages?"

"Yes." He turned back to the eggs, easily cracking one on the edge of a bowl in a single motion. She'd always made a bit of a mess while doing that, pieces of the shell usually falling into the yoke. Thankfully, her father found her clumsy cooking skills funny. Even after they'd been confined to the community, he'd kept a part of himself—his gentle humor.

"Which languages?" she asked.

"Four fluently. Spanish, French, German, Farsi." He paused. "With less skill, Mandarin."

"That's…a lot. I can only speak one."

"In time, we can change that," he replied.

"So you must have been to other countries?"

"Yes."

"I'd like to see other countries," she murmured. "Goodness. I'd like to see other states." He didn't say anything to this. "Have you been to other times?"

"_What?"_ He finally turned away from the stove.

She softly laughed. "Well, if you were a Spirit, I bet you would travel through time and see everything, right? Like in those stories."

He tilted his head. "I suppose I would. _Odd girl_." He said the last part gently, though, and so she continued to speak.

"I wish I'd lived…um… in the 1950's, maybe. Or the 1990's. Everything seemed good then."

"Those times were not so perfect," he said. "No era was. No country is. Do not fool yourself with thoughts of escape to some imaginary time or place. Take what you are given and…_work_ with it. That is the answer."

Christine glanced down and felt her face warm, wondering if he was aware of her secret thoughts of escaping to a foreign country with Raoul. When he didn't give any indication of being angry with her, she cautiously continued, "Erik, you can go to different countries and speak all these languages. So why…why are you _here_? Why do you work with Cameron, if you don't even believe in half of what he says? I mean, I have _pants _in my closet. Why are you here when you could probably be anywhere else?" Her heart pounded; she knew it was an intrusive question.

He turned all the way around. "The same reason that you are here, my dear."

"What?"

"A destiny. You and I…we were meant to be at _this_ time…_this_ place." There was such an intense gleam in his eyes that she leaned backward. "I knew it the second that I heard you sing. I finally understood."

"Understood what?"

"The point of _everything_."

Nervous again, she looked down and didn't reply, not wanting the consequences of either agreeing or disputing his strange proclamation. He turned away to continue making her breakfast, and she turned back to her books, thinking they would safely return to their normal lukewarm cordiality. When she sang later that day, though, there came a point where he stopped playing the piano and turned all the way around on the bench to stare at her.

"Did I mess up?" she asked, shuffling her feet.

"No. You did quite well."

"Oh."

"You are simply…a vision of loveliness, you know?" Erik stood. The intensity in his eyes caused her to take several steps backward. "And you are still frightened of me…."

"I'm still your prisoner," she replied, fingers curling. "I don't know…what you want."

"I wish you would not feel that way. I do not want a prisoner. I want a…a _companion_!"

"A companion?! But you won't let me go anywhere. You won't tell me anything except that I have some destiny." Her lip trembled. "How can I like you, whoever you are?"

"_Like_ me. What a tepid word. I hope you will never_ like_ me, Christine." He sat at the piano again, fingertips to his forehead and elbows on the keys.

"Erik, if you would just explain this all to me…."

"Go to bed now." He shooed her away with one hand.

"Are you ever going to let me out?" She couldn't stop the desperation from creeping into her voice. "How long? A month? A year? Please give me _something._"

She expected him to give her another frustrating and cryptic reply_. _Instead, Erik said, "We will discuss that tomorrow. Now go to bed."

Her mouth opened to argue, but she realized that his answer held hope. _Tomorrow._ It was good enough. She took a breath and, for the first time said, "Goodnight, Erik."

He didn't reply.

That day had given her much more knowledge than the previous ones. And also made her realize that, maybe, there were some things she didn't _want_ to know yet.

* * *

"I underestimated her appeal."

"I did not."

"You didn't, Erik. You were right. You usually are." Cameron sighed. "I have many people asking where she is. I have said that she is under the care of the Spirit, but I'm not sure they believe me. It does not do any good to offer people a symbol of goodness only to snatch it away. And I will not tolerate any conspiracy theories that could destroy everything."

The Spirit eyed him, folding his arms. "What is that you want, Mr. Lourdes?"

"It is maybe time for a public appearance of her. Of course, she will never be integrated into the Community again. But she can sing and remain that beacon of light-that untouchable promise of goodness that all women strive to be."

"She is not ready yet."

Cameron raised an eyebrow. "It's been over a week. Erik, I'm watching you help bring entire cities to their knees. Surely one little girl is nothing for you to handle. You simply must further her lessons in obedience; that is all. All the more reason for you to make her your wife. I cannot have the beacon of the community displaying ungodly behavior."

The Spirit remained steady, although Cameron noticed his shoulder twitch slightly. "She will sing. Give me two more weeks."

"_One_ more week. This is a very simple request. One song in one week. I am sure you will have her under your control by then. Agreed?"

"One more week is adequate."

"And what about the wedding?" Cameron asked with a teasing smile.

"If you inquire into that again, I will disappear and you can handle all the operations by yourself. Do you understand?"

Cameron frowned, feeling the balance of power seesaw back and forth. "Erik, you're being very unreasonable about this. You know how much it means to me."

The Spirit suddenly slammed several silver disks onto the desk with a clatter. Cameron started. "Here are recorded conversations that will be of interest to you. You have many friends and many enemies. I will destroy your enemies one by one without question. Christine will sing with unsurpassed beauty, and they will come in the tens of thousands to listen to her. _But_…if you continue to interfere with her otherwise, I will disappear. Or I will _become_ your enemy, and, Mr. Lourdes…." His voice fell to a whisper. "You do not want me as your enemy, do you?"

Cameron could feel his blood run cold. Still, he forced a choked laugh from his throat. "I don't want you as my enemy. No. We're friends, Erik. I'm very sure of that. That is why I want a wife for you. Why are you so resistant to such a gift?"

"Keep testing me, Cameron. _Do_ go on mentioning her. It is a fun game we play. See how far you go."

The Spirit's eyes burned like flames, and Cameron was wise enough to keep silent by that point. "One week then," he said, looking down. "She will sing at a special ceremony for newcomers. It will be outside as we don't have room for everyone in any of our current buildings. I'm going to have a new assembly hall built soon, a massive one. Maybe you would like to help with the design?"

"Possibly."

"We are truly within the Lord's favor. It is amazing how it's all coming together, isn't it?"

"Amazing," the Spirit parroted.

"Oh! And, along with bringing little Christine, do you think you might do some tricks for us? A few supernatural embellishments would be helpful to me."

"I will bring a bag of tricks for you, Cameron. An entire bag."


	10. Chapter 10

A quick note: My condolences go out to anyone affected by the recent events. This story will continue to have some violent and chaotic themes, so it is understandable if anyone needs to step away from it for a bit.

Big thanks for all the kind words of feedback. I'm thinking that this story will have about 30 chapters, but we'll see.

**Present Day**

"Why are we sitting in the garage? This is very boring."

"I wanted to spend time with you. I haven't spent much time with you over the years, have I?"

He looked at her and tilted his head. "But why are we sitting in the garage?"

"It's nice and dark," she replied, tilting her forehead against the cool glass of the window. "I just thought we could chat for a bit." She breathed in deeply, a headache beginning to form in the front of her skull. The exhaust pipe was stuffed with a small embroidered hand towel, a wedding present from the Bakers. Or was it from the Ortegas? She couldn't remember…. Neither spoke to her anymore.

"You said we would go on a drive."

"What's your favorite subject, Erik?"

"You know that, Mom."

"Tell me again. I don't remember."

"It is science."

"What sort of science?"

"_All _science. Animals and weather and electricity and the body and outer space and…." He looked toward the passenger window with wide yellow eyes. "I don't want to be in here anymore! I want to go on a drive like you said. I…I don't feel well in here."

"We'll go on the longest drive ever in just a bit," she murmured. Nausea set in as her headache worsened, and she swallowed to force the sensation away. "It'll be a beautiful drive. With gold streets and purple clouds. And your face will be all better. Can you imagine that?"

He blinked. "My…face will be better? Did you find a new doctor?"

"Yes. Very soon. You'll wake up, and it'll be all better."

He put two fingers to the bandages on his cheek and hesitated. "Mom, I really want to go back inside now," he whispered.

"Shh, baby. We'll leave in a little while. And then your daddy will be so happy. Don't you want to make Daddy happy?"

"But—"

She continued to breathe in deeply. "Erik, I'm sorry I haven't been very nice to you. You were always so…complicated. But now it'll be okay. We'll go somewhere where everyone is nice to us." Ignoring her, he managed to pull up the locking device and open the door. She quickly clicked the lock back into place from her side. "Erik! Erik, you won't be happy out there. Everyone hates both of us. I tried to fix you, but no one would let me. Mommy tried, baby."

"I want to get out now!" he cried. "I don't want to be here! I don't feel well!" A tear trickled down his twisted mess of a face, and a soft sob came emerged from his twisted lips. _"Please!" _

"Erik, stay here with Mommy."

"_No!"_ He pulled the lock up again and pushed the door open with his scrawny arms, scrambling out. She didn't have the strength to reach out and grab him. Erik stumbled toward the entrance of the house with his hands stretched out in front of him.

"Erik! Fine, Erik!" She hoarsely screamed with her last bit of strength. "Go! But you'd better not tell anyone where Mommy is. I'll _kill _you if you do! I want to be left alone. I don't want to deal with you anymore. I hate you! So go and leave me alone, you hideous little brat!" She paused as the world began to spin and darken. "Oh. Oh, Erik. Erik, I'm so tired of it all."

He glanced back at her from the door, and their eyes locked together for one final moment. Her only child then ran inside, shutting the door behind him. For a second she was afraid he would tell, but the minutes ticked by and no one ever came.

Lena rested her head back against the seat and remembered being on the diving team in high school, that moment on the edge of the board before you sprang up into the air. She stared over the vast blue water, ready to launch toward the rippling mass in perfect form.

She jumped as the beautiful blue became a comforting blackness.

And she flew.

* * *

**2038**

Anticipation ruined most of her sleep that night.

Tomorrow, he'd said. Tomorrow finally became today, at least according to her internal clock, and Christine jumped out of bed and ran to the door, still wearing her nightgown. Thankfully, he was sitting at the piano, flipping through the pages of a songbook. She approached him with resolve, holding her head high and arms straight at her sides.

"Good morning, my beauty," he greeted with none of the hostility of the previous night.

"Good morning, Erik."

"Do you want breakfast?"

"Not right now."

"Do you want to begin your lessons then?"

She took a deep breath. "Erik, you said _tomorrow._"

"Pardon me?"

"You said we would talk about me getting to go out."

"I did, didn't I?" He paused. "Yet your eagerness makes me question my plans…."

"Erik, all I want is fresh air. That's all I'm eager for."

"I can assure you that the air here is better for you than that polluted mess outside."

She suppressed a cry of frustration. If he didn't grant her this wish, she really was going to lose her mind. "_Please._"

He sighed and looked her in the eye. "Assuming you prove yourself trustworthy, you will be singing in one week. For the community—a sort of welcoming ceremony."

Her heart jumped. "That sounds…good."

"As I said, you must prove yourself trustworthy." Christine nodded, knowing that she would have to at least pretend to be a completely 'good girl.' "We will focus on your voice for the rest of the week," he continued.

She nodded again, nervous that any quiver in her speech might give away her true thoughts. Still, it was very difficult to concentrate on her lessons that day as Christine wondered what she would do when her moment of freedom arrived. Try to run? Try to warn everyone? Both sounded dangerous, but she couldn't just do nothing, right? Her stomach gurgled with nervous anticipation; she hoped the 'Spirit' didn't have magical hearing….

During her break, she played pop music from the 1980's in the closet, a fast tune with a fun beat. Vaguely, she remembered her mother playing the song at times, usually when she was doing aerobic exercises. _Come here, sweetheart. Dance with Mommy._ Her dad had shaken his head and laughed as they danced around, a broad smile on his face. Christine never saw that same smile after her mother had passed….

And now she danced around for the first time since before the community, _sinfully _lifting her legs, waving her arms and swerving her hips. It probably looked utterly ridiculous, but she suddenly had a ton of energy to expend. There was something liberating about dancing—as though she were finally escaping the life she'd led of restricted movement, thought, and speech. And, soon, maybe she would be completely _free._

Knowing how much was at stake, she sang her absolute best for Erik that evening, and he said, "You will completely amaze all of them at the ceremony. There is no doubt of it."

"Well, I'll do my best."

"You are their beacon. Their light. Even Cameron believes this now."

She looked toward the carpet. "I'm not sure I'm exactly the role model of what Cameron wants. You've seen to that…." She wasn't sure whether that was a 'thank you' or an accusation.

"It does not matter. You simply must learn to…act a bit in addition to singing. And you have the talent for it. You look the part, and you will learn to play it perfectly."

Christine bit her bottom lip as she realized he wanted her to become a sort of…_lie_. Just like the Spirit was a lie. How many lies was the community built on? These thoughts plagued her mind as she headed for bed that night with slightly renewed hope.

The next day was the same until Erik paused after their final vocal lesson. "I think we should have a…preliminary outing before Cameron's event."

"What?"

"I am taking you above ground briefly. Perhaps it _would _be good for your health. It is nearing sunset, an ideal time." She gaped at him. "If you attempt to run, that will be it. There will be no ceremony. You will be down here for months or years."

Christine rapidly nodded, deciding to not making any decisions until she could see exactly where she was. "All I want is air. I promise, Erik."

He nodded. "Put on sturdy shoes and then follow me."

As she expected, he took her into one of the locked rooms. Nothing was in the small space except for walls of grey file cabinets along with another mysterious door. She wondered how big his home actually was, how far back it stretched. A soft beep sounded into the air, but she couldn't tell where it originated. Maybe he had a controller in his jacket pocket? Suddenly, a rectangular portion of the ceiling slid back and revealed an opening of the same shape. A metallic staircase began to unfold and descend down to the carpet. He hadn't been lying, and the complexity of it all was a little overwhelming. "Follow me," he said.

She ascended the stairs behind him, her footsteps much louder than his, and found herself to be in the middle of a dark tunnel. Walking forward without a glance in either direction, Erik pushed another button, and the silver doors of an elevator opened. The inside was lit with a dim bulb. "What is this place?" she softly asked, hugging her arms to her chest.

"It is a shelter built some time ago, able to withstand man's deadliest weapons. And it makes for a very secure home, no?"

The floor lifted beneath her feet and then stopped within seconds. The doors slid open, and she was again looking into darkness. This time, though, there was a square patch of light beneath a short metal staircase that led to an opening.

"Go up," said Erik. "You will have twenty minutes. Watch your step as you walk around; I have surveyed the area, but an occasional rusty nail may still be present."

"Are you coming?" she asked, not knowing what she wanted the answer to be.

"In a moment."

She swallowed and nervously walked up the staircase, blinking in the natural light. Christine heard birds twittering and almost expected to find herself in a forest. But no. When she reached the top, she saw that it was the remains of a large, circular abandoned building. The windows were all shattered, and flowery weeds had begun to creep through the entrances and the floorboards. Decaying wooden balconies were near the ceiling, and a scrawny squirrel was perched on the ledge, watching her with its head tilted. Tattered red seats sat in the middle of the room, and Christine noticed that she was elevated over them. _On a stage._

There was no sign of civilization, and she found the room eerie as she slowly climbed down a set of wooden steps and began to look around. A few yellowed pieces of papers were lying on the floor, along with fragments of wood and plaster. The building had to have been very nice at one time; she could make out gold decorations on the walls and torn ceiling.

"Be careful where you step," said Erik, startling her. She turned. He was standing in the shadows of the stage, under a tattered blue curtain, arms folded.

"What happened to it?" she asked, her voice lost in the vast space.

"It was abandoned."

"But why?"

Erik shrugged. "The nation could no longer afford extravagancies. Some could for a while; perhaps that is why my underground home was constructed. It was likely a shelter for the rich and powerful in case of an emergency. But, at some point, there was no point in keeping it open at all."

She glanced through a space where a semicircle window should have been and saw nothing but grass blowing in a gentle breeze. A heavy melancholy settled over her. "It's sad in here," she murmured. Christine stepped into the rows of seats. A flapping noise startled her, and she jumped back, hand over her heart. Several small grey birds flew past her and out one of the windows. Silence resumed, and Christine continued to look over the mess, over old statues and ornaments and even what appeared to be a woman's pair of blue heels.

"It is time to return inside," Erik finally said.

"All right." She didn't argue, hurrying back up to the stage and following him downstairs toward the elevator. The following day, she didn't ask to go back up. The ruins of the Outside were rather depressing, and that sort of setting provided no means of escape. Christine supposed she'd ask to go up again only when she became desperate for a ray of sunshine.

During her time in the closet, she found something that made her smile again. Christine pulled out the board and pieces from beneath a pile of books and brought them into the kitchen. Placing everything out on the table, she set it up within a few minutes and then ate her ham sandwich. When Erik came in, he almost seemed startled to see it.

"I used to play with my dad," she said. "I mean, I was terrible at it because I was seven. But I remember how."

"Checkers," he replied, touching one of the red pieces with the tip of his gloved finger. "It has been a long time."

"Will you?" She felt less hostile toward him now that she was allowed out, and this was another way to continue gaining his trust. Still, Christine hadn't pulled out the game with purely underhanded intentions. It was also simply another relic from her past that she remembered with fondness.

He didn't answer her directly, only sat down at the table and motioned at her to go first. Erik beat her quickly and without effort, and she awkwardly stared down at a board that only had red pieces remaining. "Did you play this a lot?" she asked.

"Several times."

"Several times." She awkwardly laughed. "Well, then."

"I prefer chess, actually. It …has been a distraction throughout the years."

"I've never played that," she murmured.

"I can teach you," he replied with a touch of eagerness. "There are _so_ many things that I can teach you."

"I'd like that." She swallowed and looked down, hoping he couldn't see any traces of deception in her face. Trying to make the guilty feelings go away, Christine distracted them both by pointing at the front cover of a textbook. "It's funny looking, isn't it?"

"It is a stegosaurus. For its time, I am sure it appeared completely normal." He sounded very annoyed, and so she tried again.

"Erik, how old is the Earth?"

"How old do you think it is?"

"I don't know." Realizing that he wasn't going to answer her, she pulled out a history book and asked, "Do you think women should be able to vote?"

He paused and then chuckled. "It depends on the meaning of your question."

"What?"

"Well, if you are implying that, because men can vote, then women should be able to do so as well-then I would agree. There are no studies that indicate one gender is superior to the other, not really. But…the better question is-should _anyone_ be able to vote?"

"I don't understand…."

"Are most people capable and intelligent enough to make their own decisions?"

She eyed him. "Do _you_ think they are?"

"Do you?"

She sighed and rubbed her head, tired of the riddles. "Erik, do you want me to believe what Cameron teaches?"

"No." At least that was direct enough.

"But you want me to sing for him?"

"Yes."

"And I'm not supposed to be confused by this at all?" She gave him a desperate look.

"Let us concentrate on your voice for the next few days. Only think of that, and your task will seem much simpler. We will return to these more intellectual exercises after the ceremony. Do you understand?"

"I…guess." But she didn't—not in the slightest.

Erik reached out to touch her hair, and she didn't flinch away. He almost seemed surprised by this, pausing before he ran his index finger over a blonde strand. "Christine…." It was more a sigh than a spoken word. Withdrawing his hand, he left her with her thoughts.

_After the ceremony…._She could feel herself growing more nervous by the moment. If possible, it could be her escape. If she arrived and was surrounded on all sides by Cameron's guards, it might at least be another chance to gain Erik's trust until a true opportunity presented itself.

Still, with each passing day in that underground home, Christine felt that she was falling deeper and deeper into something that was far bigger than herself. And she feared that there would eventually be no turning back.

* * *

The day arrived faster than she thought it would, maybe faster than she hoped it would. Before Erik had stated she would be singing at the ceremony, Christine had an idealized vision of how her escape would take place. When no one was looking, maybe she would sprint away and climb a tree so that no one could see her. And she would laugh at them from above as they searched for her. Juvenile fantasies like this had been her only lifeline. Now that it was actually happening, though, she still had no real plan.

Erik had her concentrate on her voice more than academics that week, and so she stayed wrapped in music, either singing or listening to him play the piano. He took her aboveground two more times, and she explored the dead theater, picking up old programs for shows and looking them over. While the words and pictures were very faded, she could tell that they had once been colorful and vibrant, from a time when the world wasn't covered in shadows.

Really, Erik gave her whatever she desired, be it a certain food or help in finding a song she'd suddenly remember. Although curious, she didn't ask about his face again, not wanting to cause a crisis that would jeopardize her upcoming performance. The evening before the big event, Erik said, "You will wear the blue dress on the right side of your closet. It was meant for such an occasion."

"You mean I shouldn't wear the pants?" she softly joked.

"Only if you would like to see Mr. Lourdes turn a fiery shade of red."

"Maybe I would." That wasn't a joke, and Christine hoped she hadn't crossed the line. She still didn't quite understand the relationship between Erik and Cameron.

But Erik only chuckled. "Perhaps someday."

She easily located the dress the afternoon of her performance, finding the shiny blue material flashier than anything she usually saw in the community. There were also matching flat shoes and a bright blue ribbon for her hair. Her reflection was pale but otherwise healthy; Erik certainly saw that she was well-fed. More than anything, her eyes were somehow wiser, less clouded with fantasies.

When she emerged, Erik looked her up and down. "Yes. Perfect. Tasteful yet alluring. Cameron may not completely approve, but he certainly will not regret the results."

She shifted at the strange compliment. "Thank you?"

He didn't notice her nervousness, gathering several folders and a brown paper bag into his arms. "We have a two hours' journey ahead of us. Cameron will likely meet with us beforehand, and you will…need to play your part."

"My part?"

"Simply be quiet and compliant. None of those interesting questions of yours, as much as I enjoy them. I doubt Cameron likes curious women."

"Probably not." Christine wondered if she should bring any clothing or toiletries, but Erik might grow suspicious. Outside of one clothing change and a hairbrush, she brought nothing else.

When they had climbed the first set of stairs, she started to walk toward their normal elevator. "This way," Erik said with a nod of his head to the left. He turned on a flashlight. "It will take about ten minutes."

She turned to follow and stumbled in the darkness, lightly touching his black jacket to steady herself. He paused in his steps and allowed her to adjust. They continued down the metal pathway, and Christine could see very little throughout the journey, just the occasional pole or some wiring sticking out of the ceiling. Sometimes there was rumbling from above. Erik finally stopped and pushed a button. An elevator door open, and they stepped inside. "How many different elevators are there?" she asked.

"Three."

"Where does the third go?"

He glanced at her but didn't answer. She knew better than to ask again.

The elevator rumbled upwards, and the door opened. As before, she went up a short flight of stairs, although this time they led to a slanted green door. Erik took a gold key from his pocked and unlocked it, and she was suddenly faced with a dirty alleyway. Broken glass bottles and brown puddles covered the cracked asphalt. She could hear the beat of a radio in the distance along with occasional muffled voices.

"Stay close," Erik said, locking the door. "This part of the city is less savory, although far from the worst of it."

She nodded as they headed for the street, surprisingly finding safety in the shadow of her captor as she gazed over the urban decay. Suddenly, Christine noticed a long, black car with heavily tinted windows waiting along the curbside. Erik walked toward it and opened the door. She took one last glance around, her gaze falling on a man watching her with glazed eyes, his jeans and white shirt dirty and torn. "Get in," murmured Erik.

Christine quickly climbed into the interior and settled into the plush grey seat, heart beating quickly. Piano music was playing on the speakers, and the air conditioning was softly blowing over them, a comforting contrast with the world outside. The driver, a baldheaded man with beady eyes and glasses, glanced back at them. She nervously recognized him from the community, usually working right at Cameron's side. "Are you ready?" the man asked, his voice nasally.

"Drive," said Erik with a wave of his hand. Whoever the man was, Erik clearly wasn't intimidated.

She folded her hands in her lap and stared out the window. Christine considered making conversation about something interesting she'd read in a textbook but thought better of it. The man might tell Cameron about her learning and then…well, would Erik be in trouble? Or just her? She was still confused about how all of it worked, but her silence was clearly the better option. And so she merely watched as the city turned into abandoned towns and then that morphed into rural land. Eventually, she could sense they were nearing her old home, and she cast a nervous glance toward Erik. He was staring out his own window, the fingers of his left hand tapping impatiently against the seat.

Finally, she recognized the gates to the community and Cameron's looming residence. While still intimidating, the structure seemed smaller now that she knew no Spirit ruled over everything. To her surprise, they didn't stop right inside the gate. Instead, the car turned sharply into a dark garage attached to Cameron's compound; she hadn't known of its existence. The door slid shut, and she couldn't see anything through the window except the outlines of irregular shapes. Finally, the vehicle stopped, and the driver got out to open her door. "Remember what I told you," Erik said softly, eyes especially bright in the dark. "Play your part, my beauty."

Her heart was in her throat as she climbed out of the car. The driver remained there, and Erik led her to a door and then a dimly lit corridor. The lights buzzed over her head, and her footsteps echoed on linoleum tiles. Wherever they were, the bland and modern halls greatly contrasted with the parts of Cameron's home that she had seen. They walked up several flights of stairs and down several corridors, and she had to work to keep up with Erik's fast gait, though it seemed he was trying to slow down for her sake. Finally, Erik stopped at an inconspicuous white door that practically blended in with the plaster wall. He turned the white knob and stepped into a room, holding the door open for her behind him. She blinked in the sudden light and then softly gasped. They were now standing in Cameron's office.

"Go in, my dear," murmured Erik, gently pushing her forward with his hand. "You are fine." Still stunned, she stared around the plush room, only having been in it one other time. The bear rug still disturbed her as did the paintings of what appeared to be bloody battles between heaven and hell on the walls.

"Welcome, welcome." Cameron's voice startled her, and she turned toward his smiling face. It was difficult not to glare, but she forced a smile in return. "You look very divine. Although, it is not quite the dress I would have recommended…."

Erik quickly spoke. "She is a beacon after all."

Cameron hesitated and then shrugged. "It is still a fairly modest dress. No harm done." He turned back to her. "Tell me, my dear. Have you learned a great deal while with…the Spirit...Erik? Are you learning to be a godly woman?"

"Oh, yes," she whispered. "He teaches me to be a…very good girl." The lie tasted bitter.

"Wonderful," said Cameron, clasping his hands together. "And are you ready to sing for us today?"

"Oh, yes."

"She is," said Erik. "She is perfection. Our current situation has only improved her voice."

Cameron continued to smile, his head bobbing up and down. "Excellent. Yes, I think today will be utterly wonderful, especially if you…intend on following through with our discussion, Erik?"

"Yes."

"Very good. Very good."

She glanced between them, wondering what they were talking about but knowing that a godly woman would mind her own business. Maybe if she were lucky Erik would tell her later. _If there were a later…._

"I believe it is time for us to leave," said Erik. "We arrived a bit later than intended. As usual, your driver was…sluggish. And my normal methods of transportation would not have suited Christine."

"Yes, Jeremy is a bit cautious, probably because he is hard of hearing. Still, he is my most loyal friend." Cameron bowed his head and murmured several words in prayer. Glancing back up, he said, "Let us go."

The three of them took a similar, although not identical, pathway back to the garage. Sometimes she would glance toward Erik, but he always had his eyes forward and his shoulders back in an intimidating posture. Cameron would stare at her and smile, making Christine all the more nervous. When they arrived at the car, she looked at Erik, expecting him to climb inside with her. Instead, he said, "It is time for me to take my leave."

"What?" she whispered, casting a nervous glance toward Cameron. He was conversing with the driver. "But I…I don't know what to do."

"I will be watching and listening the entire time. Cameron will lead you to the stage and direct you when to sing. If he makes irritating statements, simply nod your head in agreement. That is all you must do."

"Where will you be?"

"Taking on other tasks, my beauty. Do not think on it. Simply sing." He vanished completely from her sight within seconds.

Feeling nauseous, she climbed inside with Cameron facing her then turned her head to look out the window. The car left the dark garage and drove a couple miles through the well kept neighborhoods, and she was shocked to see how many more new identical homes and buildings were in the process of being constructed, as well as how far back the community now stretched.

"Are you ready?" asked Cameron, smiling at her beneath his beard.

"I think so," she whispered, lowering her eyes.

"We are doing the true work of God, Christine. You, me, and Erik. There is no better time to be alive."

"Yes, Mr. Lourdes."

"Have you been content these last weeks?" he asked, studying her closely enough to make her squirm.

"Yes," she repeated.

"Good. I think it will be a superb arrangement once it is made official."

_Official?_ "Yes. It will be."

The car stopped, and she had no more time to think about Cameron's strange statement. As they climbed out and walked forward through the green grass of an open space, community guards now surrounding them, she could hear many voices. A crowd. _Her audience._ An enormous stage had been set up with a microphone and a grand piano. She gaped as the mass of people came into view, clearly thousands of them. Men and women and children all in similar clothing and wearing that same expression that Christine had come to know so well.

"Look at them," Cameron murmured. "What a blessing."

He headed for the stage, and she was left with several guards. People were everywhere. Especially while wearing that flashy dress, she feared it would be impossible for her to escape unnoticed. As Christine continued to look around for possible breaks in the crowd, she was oblivious to what Cameron was saying. He was likely giving the same speech he always did: _Everyone is doomed except the Community. Blah, blah, blah. _

_I wonder where Erik is? _

Before she could look for him, Christine glanced up as her surroundings seemed to darken. She squinted in confusion as the early evening sky had been clear moments ago. A grey blanket of fog had now settled over them. The rest of the crowd was murmuring and also gazing upwards.

"Ah, yes!" exclaimed Cameron loudly enough to make her jump. "That is a sign from the Spirit, warning us that there will be dark days ahead, my friends. We must believe him. We must be willing to fight on even during the most perilous times."

To her horror, the ground suddenly seemed to shake beneath her-not enough to knock her off her feet, but she still grasped onto the nearest pole. Shrieks rang out from the crowd as people grabbed their family members, and parents picked up their youngest children. Yellow lights flashed above and thunder rumbled, also causing the ground to tremble. Christine squeezed her eyes shut and held on.

"Yes!" Cameron's voice rose above the noise. "The Spirit is angry, my friends. The Spirit is furious at the sin of this country, and you had better listen to him. You had better listen well! He will have his justice, and you want to be on his side when that happens." He paused. "Don't you?"

"_Yes!"_ the audience screamed as the ground continued to tremble.

Finally, the shaking stopped. Christine opened her eyes as the sun appeared from behind the fog, brightening the scene again.

"For your see," Cameron continued. "Once justice is served—light, love, and righteousness will rule again." The sunset seemed to glow extra brightly, and the people cheered in agreement, smiling faces raised toward the heavens.

Christine felt sick to her stomach.

_Erik. _

_Nothing but a bunch of wonderful magic tricks. _

_Nothing but a terrible lie._

A deep anger overcame her, heating her hands and face. _This was so wrong, so unfair to all these poor people. _

In her fury, she was aware of Cameron announcing her name. Christine robotically walked to the stage, staring straight forward, almost oblivious to the crowd. The piano began to play, and she began the song she had rehearsed dozens of time. Her own voice seemed distant in her ears, hollow and empty. _Nothing but a lie, Erik…. _Still, she sang. She sang her heart out. Except-

The last line of her song was supposed to be: _"And only God's love is real!"_

Instead, she sang, or rather yelled, _"And the Spirit is not real!" _

When the words left her mouth, she stepped backward with wide eyes, shocked at what she had just done. Breathing heavily, Christine stared down at the sea of confused faces. But before she could celebrate any sort of victory, her voice suddenly continued the song for one more line-only it wasn't really her singing. It was some kind of recording of her, and it flawlessly sang, "_Unless you truly believe!"_

"No," she whispered as the confused murmurs of the audience turned to cheers and applause. "No!" she yelled into the microphone. "Listen to me. It-_Hiccup! Co-ack! Hiccup! Co-ack!_"

Christine clamped a hand over her mouth in horror as the crowd softly chuckled. She hadn't made the embarrassing noises, but it certainly sounded like she had. Like some sort of…terrifying ventriloquism. Again, she opened her mouth to protest. _"Co-ack! Hiccup!"_ Tears ran down her cheeks, and she backed away from the front of the stage, shaking in terror.

Cameron quickly stepped up to the microphone, casting a confused glance toward her as though he wasn't quite sure what had happened. "Well, it seems our lovely singer has overused her voice, my friends. Hopefully, she will recover soon, God willing." The audience murmured in agreement, some still with amused smiles and others nodding at her in sympathy.

As salty tears continued to fall and pool at the corners of her mouth, Christine turned around and ran off the stage. She raced through the grass and toward an aimless target. She would just run and run and run—until she got to the very end of the earth.

Of course, she knew deep down that she wouldn't actually get anywhere. Of course not. A hand grabbed her upper arm as she passed through the shadows of a building. Christine gasped and tried to struggle away, but it was useless. Finally, she gave up, shoulders slumping in defeat.

And then a cold familiar voice said, "Such a shame; I had actually begun to trust you. But did you truly believe I wouldn't prepare for such a trick? Although, I am glad you were creative enough to add the line to your song. Bravo! Bravo, my intelligent beauty."

She closed her eyes as Erik roughly pulled her away.

Now she would never see daylight again.


	11. Chapter 11

**Thanks to everyone for your feedback! For those who enjoyed the theater setting in Chapter 10, I encourage you to do a Google Image search for abandoned theaters. They really are haunting. **

**Read and Review!**

Light raindrops tapped against the windows of Raoul's living room, and the air was warm and sticky. While the weather created a more putrid odor than usual, the rain was also a good thing. More people stayed inside, keeping the crime rates and violence lower. Raoul and his two friends were sitting on the couches with glasses of lime soda, all leaning forward as he described the latest news.

"Wait, wait," said Anthony. He spilled a little of his soda on the coffee table. "Sorry. So there was actually some kind of magic show?"

"That's the rumor," said Raoul. "And now some people are saying that Cameron might have at least thirty percent of the state's support. _Thirty frikin' percent_."

Meg wrinkled her nose. "How did that stuff even happen?"

"I'm sure it's not so hard to fake an earthquake," Raoul replied, although he wasn't certain. Still, how the hell was a nut like Cameron Lourdes getting away with this? The guy didn't even seem that bright.

The only positive aspect was that Christine supposedly sang at the event, though the rumors hadn't given much description concerning her performance. At least she was alive and healthy. And probably still believing in the stupid Spirit.

"Chagny? Earth to Chagny?"

"Sorry," murmured Raoul. "Just thinking about stuff."

Anthony chuckled. "So what's next?"

"Well, a bunch of people, including Phil, are going to give uplifting speeches soon. Even the president might be involved."

"That's a nice…err…start," Meg said, looking down at her worn jeans and t-shirt. "Then maybe they could fix everything else, too?"

"Midterm elections are soon," added Anthony. "We can vote some of them out." He probably saw Raoul's expression. "What's wrong? Are you bitter because Phil's going to put you to work?"

"Uh, nothing. Yeah, just thinking about all the phone calls I'll have to make for him." That wasn't the truth, but Raoul didn't want to alarm his friends yet. Phillip wasn't sure how the state of the country was going to be by November. He was still giving speeches and venturing into the more dangerous areas for support. Sometimes Raoul and their mother worried about his safety. But a lot of people simply didn't care anymore—didn't think it mattered who won. In the west and northern parts of the country, the state governments had finally stepped in to try to create order. The federal government was allowing the intervention while it focused on bringing some semblance of control to the growing chaos in the south and northeast.

The only person with enthusiastic supporters was…the honorable Cameron Lourdes, and he wasn't even running for office. A couple of his supporters were, but the rioting and explosive violence posed a much greater threat than those guys did.

"Well," said Meg. "At least they're finally going to try to address Cameron."

"Yeah, but it gives him more legitimacy," Raoul replied.

"He already has legitimacy," Meg argued in a gentle voice. "I don't think they can pretend he doesn't anymore."

"I know," Raoul murmured. "But they're going to have to do more than give a bunch of speeches. It looks pathetic."

"What do you think they should do?" asked Anthony.

Raoul hesitated. "I don't know. Take a bulldozer and a couple of tanks to his home?"

Meg giggled nervously. "Nice to see you want to take a more measured approach."

"Ugh," Raoul muttered. "It's ridiculous. Why do people think this stuff is real? C'mon. A one minute thunderstorm? Someone needs to expose him for the fraud that he is!"

"How?" asked Anthony.

"We could…go to one of these events and figure out where all this is coming from. You know, expose the man behind the curtain, right?"

"That sounds dangerous," Meg murmured. "I mean, you got away last time. But things are a little different now."

"What else are we going to do?" Raoul asked, holding out open palms.

"Leave?" Anthony softly replied. "That's what I'm doing soon."

"You're right. That's probably what we _should_ do. I told Phillip that the other day. But…do you guys really want to look back knowing you never tried?" Both of his friends glanced down and said nothing. "One try, and then we can leave. That's it. Please."

Meg looked at the floor and sighed. "Okay. I can…ask my mom if she knows anything else that would be useful."

Anthony shrugged. "I'm a good getaway driver." He paused. "And I think I know how some of those tricks might have been done. It's not too hard to make an earthquake simulator, anyway. But, ya know, these people probably aren't looking for a science lesson, Raoul. What if they don't care if it's fake? They want security…and hope."

Raoul clenched his jaw with determination. "First, we prove Cameron's a fraud. Then we'll give them hope."

Meg's forehead crinkled as she frowned. "I just…_hope_ these people aren't too far gone already. Christine…she seemed so out of it."

"I know," Raoul replied, glancing at the raindrops sliding down the window like tears. "That's why, if nothing else, I want her to know that the Spirit's not real."

"And, if it doesn't work, we leave?" Meg asked, unable to keep the eagerness from her voice. "The three of us and my mom?"

"And _my _mom. We leave," Raoul agreed.

Deep down, he knew that's probably what they would end up doing. But…he had to try. He had to be more than a coward. Phillip was right; his dad would have wanted it.

* * *

No words could describe the terror she felt as the black car pulled up beside them, jolting as it stopped in the grass. The top of her arm was still clasped in Erik's long, thin fingers, and she was too frightened to look up into those angry yellow eyes. Her heart was pounding, and she desperately searched for an escape that didn't exist.

"Get in," Erik commanded, throwing the door open.

She stood there frozen, mind combing through her few options.

"I will sedate you. Is that what you want?"

"No," she whispered. She didn't want to lose consciousness and become completely vulnerable. Christine climbed into the car, praying for a miracle.

"Leaving a little earlier than thought?" the driver asked.

"Yes," Erik replied. "She is tired."

"Ah, yes. Women do tire easily. My wife always needs her afternoon nap." He smiled and then turned back around

Erik would tell the driver that she was being hysterical if she begged for help, and Christine was sure the driver would be on his side. And that would also give Erik an excuse to drug her just as he had done when kidnapping her from Raoul's home. _I should have believed you, old friend. God, I was so stupid and naïve…_.

Hugging her arms to her chest, Christine practically curled into a ball in the backseat. At least with the driver present, she didn't think anything too horrible would happen to her. But then what? She glanced at Erik, but his masked face was turned toward the window. Was Erik capable of…hurting her? Even killing her? Her heart jumped into her throat. _No, she couldn't think like that right now. She had to survive._

The long drive went by faster than she would have liked, and she could see the dilapidated buildings quickly come into view in the darkness. Erik said nothing the entire time, not even sparing her a glance. A shudder traveled through her when the vehicle came to a sudden stop.

"Have a pleasant evening," said the driver with another smile.

"You, too," Christine sickly whispered before climbing out of the car. Without a word, Erik walked directly behind her as they traveled through the back alleyway. Christine briefly glanced around for any sign of help, but there was only one other man leaning against a building. One of his eyes was missing, and he was holding a translucent green bottle to his lips. Her odds with him wouldn't have been any better, if not worse.

The elevator ride was silent, her eyes focused on the descending floor. Still, when the doors slid open, she made no move to escape into the tunnels. They climbed down the ceiling stairs to Erik's home, and she quickly walked out of the dreary room. Erik shut the door and locked it with a sharp click. She held her breath, backed against the nearest wall, and waited.

She prepared herself for anything-screaming…objects crashing against the walls…physical pain. Her thoughts wavered between yelling back at him in a final confrontation or falling to her knees and begging for her life. Slowly, he turned toward her, fingers curled at his sides.

_I don't want to die…. _As she stared up into those yellow eyes, Christine realized with certainty that she wanted to live. Even though the world was falling apart, she wasn't ready to let go of it yet. And so she fully prepared herself to beg and plead for mercy, if that's what it took to survive the night.

But, after staring down at her for several seconds, Erik only said, "Perhaps it is time for you to go to bed."

Her mouth fell open. Realizing that she was going to be spared for at least a little while longer, though, Christine nodded her head and ran into the room without a glance back. She shut the door and then flung herself onto the bed. A soft sob of both horror and relief escaped her lips as she clutched the covers and buried her face in the pillows. She had tried to save those people in the only way she knew how. Really, it had been more of an impulse than a conscious decision. A very stupid impulse that had fixed nothing.

Sometimes she heard creaking noises that night and prepared for him to come in and do…whatever punishment he had planned. But Erik never did. Then the waiting itself became awful as the hours ticked by.

Suddenly, the familiar sound of the piano reached her ears and caused her to sit up straight, still grasping the covers as though they would protect her. A loud song in a minor key was playing, the staccato notes sounding as though they were yelling at her. She shielded her ears with the pillow, trying to make the noise go away before it made her crazy. Finally, Christine sat up and made her way to the door. The music pushed back against her. Was this her punishment? Insanity by music?

She said a little prayer before she left the room, her own prayer and nothing that Mr. Lourdes had ever taught her. Staring at his back as he pounded his fingers against the keys, she resisted the urge to run back to her room. Erik sharply and silently glanced at her. They stared at each other for several moments before she finally dared to speak.

"Erik. I…." She took a deep breath, but her voice still trembled. "I…I know you're very angry with me. I'm sorry…for that. And I hope you can understand that I…I just didn't think it was fair. All those people being lied to by you and Cameron. And I had to be a part of that. I got really angry. But I shouldn't have done…_that_. So. I'm…sorry." He said nothing. "I know I won't be let out of here for a long time. But I hope…I hope…." _I hope you won't do something worse…._

Erik looked away and sighed. When he spoke, his voice was soft. "I had hoped to spare you certain sights—at least until later. But I should not have done so. Then you would have understood."

"What sights?" she nervously asked.

"That boy…Chagny." Erik said the name with clear disgust. "He showed you the World, did he?"

"Y-yes."

"Only the _pretty _parts, I am sure."

"No. I saw some kind of…bad neighborhoods with old buildings."

"Old buildings?" He chuckled. " Darling, you do not know what _bad_ is…."

She wasn't sure if she wanted to know. "What are you saying, Erik?"

"We will go on another drive late this afternoon, my dear. That is what we are going to do."

_He was letting her out?_ _Was it some sort of trap?_ She was unsure of how to react to his unexpected response.

"Until then," he continued, "resume your academics. We will…take a break from your vocal lessons today. I believe we could both use a rest from that troublesome voice of yours." He almost sounded amused. _Almost. _

Christine nodded as it began to dawn on her that she wasn't utterly doomed. He didn't even seem that angry now. "Okay," she said before going to the kitchen and giving him no time to change his mind.

As promised, Erik called her later that day as she was reading a sad fictional novel about horses in the bedroom. They hadn't interacted often, mostly because she avoided him out of the fear this was all going to be a terrible trick. Still, Christine came out when he said her name. "It would be wise for you to put on the pants now," he stated, his eyes calm. "And a very plain shirt. We do not want you to stand out anymore than your hygiene and health already will already cause you to do so."

While confused, she didn't argue, returning to the closet and slowly slipping on the jeans. They were a little tight but still comfortable. It made her feel strange to wear them after all these years, the curves of her legs and hips now framed instead of hidden. The button down sky-blue shirt also outlined her body in a way she'd never seen. Christine took a band and wrapped her hair into a ponytail before glancing at herself in the mirror. For the first time, she kind of looked like she was part of the World.

"Christine?" he asked impatiently. "I hope you are not dressing up for this occasion…." She rushed out of the room, feeling a little strange to be clothed like this in front of someone, especially a man. But Erik only glanced at her and nodded once. "As good as possible without pulling some of your teeth." Her stomach turned. _Where on earth were they going? _

They took the same underground walk that they had when meeting the car that brought them to the community. This time, though, there was a smaller car waiting, an ugly brown one that wasn't nearly as luxurious. The leather seats were somewhat worn, and the driver was completely unfamiliar, younger with short, unkempt hair. When they were seated inside, Erik spoke to him in another language. The man glanced at her and then seemed a little upset, his green eyes widening as he turned back to Erik and said several frantic sentences. Erik spoke again, though, and the driver calmed and nodded. Christine looked between them, sensing that that they knew each other from a world that had little to do with Cameron.

"What happened?" she dared to ask. These were not Community affairs; maybe _curious_ women were more tolerated.

Erik glanced at her. "Ah? He was confused. That is all."

"Tell me. Please." She paused. "If you want me to understand things…."

"You want to know? Then you shall." His tone was harsh. "I told him where to take us. He thought I might be abandoning you there and offered to take you off my hands because you are so…obviously not from our destination. I explained that it was only a brief visit-that you are my _permanent_ companion."

"Why would he take me in?" she whispered.

"There is very little that can be bought at a high price these days. But there are exceptions."

It took her a second, but then she shivered violently.

"I told you I meant to spare you that conversation. But you are right; it is time you understand why things are as they are." Her head drooped, and he must have taken pity. "Still, you are safe with me. Do not doubt that. There is no place that you are safer than with me."

When the car finally stopped, Christine immediately sensed an utter wrongness to their surroundings. There were no streetlights, just the occasional dim porch light or glow from a window. The air smelled like a mixture of garbage and sewer, and even…even a touch of death made its way through the vents. "Come, Christine." Erik opened his door.

She hesitated.

"Come," he repeated. "You want to understand? Now you will."

Taking a deep breath of awful air, she opened the door. The sounds of crunching and scraping and banging assaulted her ears. The air was too warm, and perspiration gathered on her forehead. "Walk close to me," said Erik. She did as he said without question. "There was quite the riot here yesterday," he continued. Broken glass and metal crunched beneath their feet.

"Over what?"

"Lack of work. Lack of food and security."

"Why don't these people have those things?" she whispered.

"They cease to exist."

"I know, but…Cameron says it's because of sin. And Phillip, Raoul's brother, said no one knows why. But what do you—" A moan interrupted her, and Christine sharply glanced toward the other side of the street. A girl in her mid-twenties, although she appeared much older in some ways, was lying on the edge of the sidewalk. Her skin was sallow and thinly stretched over her cheekbones, and her teeth were half-rotted. It sounded as though she was muttering obscenities beneath her breath. "What happened to her?" Christine asked, walking even closer to Erik.

"She is obviously malnourished. But the people in these areas have also turned to a very cheap methamphetamine market to make the world disappear."

Christine watched in horror as the girl raised her head, her matted blonde hair falling into her vacant eyes. The girl stared right at her, and Christine turned away, a chill running down her spine. "Should we…help her?" It seemed like such a natural thing to do. When Christine was a little girl, her mother always nursed her when she was sick. In the Community, people brought food over and helped with childcare when someone was ill.

"There are millions like her," Erik replied, continuing to walk without a glance at the girl. "You father joined the community because he was depressed. People join now to survive. To avoid turning into that." He looked to the side and gestured with his hand. "Or _that._" Two men with eyes and teeth like the girl were sitting in a cardboard box, a small fire burning in front of them.

_No._ Not just two. If she squinted in the dim lighting, Christine could see dozens of people throughout the streets and alleyways. Hundreds, maybe. It looked like all the people had attempted to cram into the crumbling apartments and then spilled out onto the steps and sidewalks. A baby was hoarsely crying. Two little boys were huddled beneath a torn quilt, watching her with wide eyes as she walked by, their mother lying next to them with a dirty shirt but no pants. Radios played from here and there, a medley of music that she had learned of over the past weeks. Every so often, someone yelled or a door slammed. And twice she heard gunshots and screams in the far off distance. Erik never flinched.

"Why won't someone help them?" she shakily whispered. "I don't understand."

"As I have said, there are diminished resources."

"But…how about another country? Couldn't they help?"

He chuckled and glanced at her. "You think a foreign invasion to be the solution?"

"Not an invasion. Just…help."

"It would turn into an invasion," he replied. "It always does."

Before she could reply with some other solution, Christine heard a soft cry near her feet. She jumped back and looked down, focusing on a black object scuttling around near a cardboard box. A shorthaired black kitten with green eyes was staring up at her and pawing at the leg of her pants. After checking to make sure the mother and any siblings were nowhere in sight, she picked the creature up and held it against her chest. It swiped at her several times with a little claw and then settled down in her arms.

Erik glanced at them. "Put that down. It is likely diseased."

"No, it's not," she desperately replied. "Please, Erik. I have to help somehow. We _have_ to help!" She spun in a frantic circle, kitten still in her arms. "It doesn't have to be like this. How about Raoul? He doesn't live like this."

"Chagny is a member of the high upper class. And they are fleeing in droves before they are slaughtered for their opulence." She cringed at the thought of Raoul being hurt. "Many sections of the cities are like this now. And it will only become worse in the next year." The kitten mewed as though protesting Erik's words. "Now put that down, and we will return soon. I believe you have nearly seen enough."

"I want to take it home." Christine checked the gender. "I want to take her home." She had to save something—_anything._

"I do not think—" Erik suddenly paused as though considering the situation. "You want to take it to _our_ home?"

"Yes," she replied before noticing that he'd placed emphasis on a certain word. Still, she bit her lip and held firm.

"Fine. But if it shows any sign of sickness, the creature is gone."

Christine rapidly nodded, clutching the kitten against her shirt. As she walked forward past an alley, though, her right foot caught on something, and she tripped. The kitten squealed at the sudden movement and struggled to get away. It finally clawed her hand and dove out of her arms the second her grip loosened, jumping onto the street and fleeing with a hiss. Christine glanced down and saw that she had tripped over a leg. In the light from a nearby window, she could see also the face of the leg's owner, and he was definitely not alive. And neither was the child lying next to him.

She started to scream. Erik's hand clamped over her mouth. "Do not draw attention to us," he whispered. "Do you understand?" Heart pounding, she nodded, and he removed his hand. "You have seen enough. We will go now."

"But my cat…." Heart breaking, she searched for it, the scratch on her hand beginning to bleed. The black kitten had blended into the night.

"We will…find you a new animal companion someday."

"But…." There was nothing she could do. As a tear trickled down her cheek, she only followed Erik, eyes fixed on the concrete so she couldn't see anything else. Christine climbed into the car as soon as it arrived and didn't say a word throughout the journey. Thoughts of escape vanished. Erik's home was heaven compared to this. Maybe a fast death would have even been better than this slow misery that devoured everyone alive.

"I'm very tired," she explained once they had returned, nearly running toward her bedroom.

She desperately wanted to be alone, and Erik allowed her to go with only, "Wash your hands."

She pressed the thoughts of what she'd witnessed out of her mind, afraid they would take over and make her hysterical. They remained on the outside of her consciousness throughout the night, threatening to overtake her already troubled dreams.

The next morning, she grabbed several history books from the closet and desperately flipped through to the end, hoping to find some type of answer. Like all the others, they finished too soon to tell her anything. She searched through magazines and newspapers from years ago, but they gave her no information either. Christine threw everything aside and placed her forehead in her hands.

"Good morning," Erik greeted.

"Morning," she softly replied.

"Do you want breakfast?" He sounded the same as he always did, calm and amiable. _How could he be so indifferent after that? _

"Not right now."

"Very well. Let me know when you are hungry. We will begin your voice lesson in an hour."

"Okay."

He stared at her. "Unless you are too tired?"

"No," she whispered. "I'm okay."

But she wasn't okay. Christine could barely sing that afternoon, her voice a shaky mess, and Erik noticed immediately. He pounded the piano harshly during warm-ups and looked at her. "This is wretched."

"I'm trying."

"No, you are not. What is wrong with you?" She slowly sunk to her knees and stared down at the spotless carpet. "What is wrong with you?" he asked again, standing up."Are you ill?"

"How can you ask me what's wrong?" she replied. "After what you showed me yesterday…."

"Ah." His voice softened. "So you understand now. Why all of this is necessary? Good."

"_Good?_ It's such a sad mess out there. And the only options are Cameron or…_that_? I don't know what to do."

"You will stay right here with me. That is what you will do." He slowly crouched beside her. "It will all be fine, my beauty. You will see. This time is the darkest."

"But all those people with Cameron are so…empty. I hated it there."

"It is preferable to starve to death in the middle of the street?"

"No," she whispered. "That's the thing. It's not. But isn't there a middle? There has to be a better way than making them believe you're like some sort of…God. Can't you and Cameron help them without doing that?"

He shrugged. "Eventually that component will no longer be necessary. I am wary of the role. For now, these people require a supernatural sort of…entity."

"But why can't things be like they were before? When I was little?" she asked, looking up at him. "Everything was so wonderful then."

"Yes. So _wonderful._" There was a touch of sarcasm in his voice, and she was momentarily confused. Hadn't things been good before? "Those times are gone now, Christine. They will not return, and it is best that you forget them. But there is a better future prepared for you than you can imagine."

"But just for me?"

"The rest will receive what they deserve," he replied. He quickly added, "There will be a middle ground, to some extent. Cameron's zealotry will only take him so far before more practical measures are necessary. And I am very practical, my Christine."

She swallowed and asked the question that was supposed to make everything okay. "So Erik…you're really trying to…to help everyone then?"

"Of course, my beauty. Why ever else would I be involved in this affair?" He paused. "And you will help everyone, too, won't you?" She nodded, her hair falling into her face. He rose back to his full height. "We will rest now. You are not in the right mood to sing."

She didn't know if she believed him. She didn't know anything anymore.

But Christine could now only see two choices that made any sense. She could run away to another country. Or stay with Erik until she figured out his true intentions. The last few days had taught her that she couldn't save anyone—not the people of the World or the Community. She didn't know which people needed to be saved more, but either was an impossibility. She couldn't even save a measly kitten.

Christine still missed that kitten.

If she did ever want to escape, it was going to take weeks or months to gain Erik's trust enough to do so. And so, either way, she would be compliant. The path was laid out before her. And there was almost relief in the fact that the answer was wrapped up with a bright red bow and handed to her like a gift.

Late that afternoon, as she curled up with a book, Erik sat in a chair near her scribbling something onto paper with a red pen. "Yes," he murmured to himself. "This piece will be perfect with the necessary adjustments. Cameron will accept it; it is much better than that banal material he requests you to sing."

She hesitated before asking, "Does Cameron know that I tried to reveal you?"

"No. I made certain of that. But I will not protect you from his rules if you betray me again."

She fully believed his dark words and quickly changed the subject. "Erik, where did you learn all that magic at the assembly?"

"It is not magic. It is science. Merely sound waves and other illusions. I can show you later. I can show you many tricks." She nodded and gazed down at her book again. Several minutes later, Erik suddenly stood over her, and she nervously glanced back up. "A walk to the theater?"

She quickly stood to put on shoes. "Yes, I'd like that."

But, when they were upstairs, instead of allowing her to explore, Erik said, "Follow me."

"Where are we going?" she asked. He pulled back a tattered red curtain and gestured to a set of wooden stairs. "Are they safe?"

"They are," he replied. "I have tested them on numerous occasions."

She followed behind him, watching her step as the old stairs creaked beneath her feet. He motioned for her to come forward, and suddenly she saw they were on one of the balconies, looking down over the stage and lower audience. The setting sun shown into the room, lighting it up through the windows like multiple spotlights. "Wow," she murmured, carefully leaning forward. "It would have been so beautiful to be up here back when there were still performances."

"One day, you will look down from a place much higher than this," he whispered beside her ear. She shuddered. "You will sing from high above, and the masses will look upon you with awe." He softly began to sing a Spanish aria that he had taught her in the beginning. So close to her ear, the tenor voice from heaven nearly hypnotized her, the stage below blurring in front of her eyes. "Now you, Christine. Sing. _Sing._"

Entranced, she began the song at his order, and then Erik joined her. The duet was painfully beautiful, echoing through the room in all its perfection. And she could suddenly seen the theater as it should have been—full plush red seats, a polished stage, a golden chandelier hanging from the ceiling with crystal adornments, women in long, elegant dress and men in black suits. When the song finished, she stood there breathing heavily, the dream fading away with the last note. A hand brushed against her waist and hip. A frenzied warmth in the center of her stomach radiated outward, vibrating through her veins. The sensation made her nervous, and she stepped to the side and away from him.

"Is something wrong?" he softly asked.

"No." She looked up and outward again, the room tilting. "But Erik. I just…don't know about any of this. I _understand._ But I don't know."

"You do not have to know now. You simply have to sing." She turned to face him, never-ending questions on the tip of her tongue. His right gloved hand cautiously moved toward her face, and he placed his thumb and index finger around her chin, guiding her gaze upwards so that she stared into his eyes. "Just look at you," he whispered. "You were meant to be a queen."

She turned her head away and stepped back. "Erik, I think we should go back down now."

To her relief, he agreed.


	12. Chapter 12

Big thanks for all the awesome feedback. It's great to see some reviewers that I remember from years ago. Also have to thank my fiancé- who lets me bounce ideas off him regarding Erik's plans for conquest… and who makes me get some sunshine once in awhile ;)

_**Near Present Day**_

Evelyn Hartman had been the principal of Franklin Middle School for twenty-three years. Her wrinkled face was drawn, and her blonde hair had long turned grey.

She had been through all of it—from notifying protective services when kids showed up with bruises that clearly didn't come from falling off the slide to parents who insisted that their precious angel would never ever bring a cigarette to school and therefore shouldn't be punished. She'd broken up more playground fights than she could count. And she was also well aware that the school had developed a bullying problem within the last five years. The trouble had trickled down from the high schools. It was the type of district where parents held their boys back for one or two years so that they would have a larger build when they played on the champion football team.

That was why she held firm as she stared at the very tall, handsome, dark-haired man across from her desk while he furiously asked, "What do you mean I can't put my son in your school? I pay taxes, damn it!"

Her light green eyes betrayed little emotion. It wasn't that she didn't feel anymore. She hadn't numbed herself to the woes of these kids who were living through things that children their age shouldn't experience. But she had to be very careful or these parents would walk all over her.

"Don't scream at me, Sir. I'm only being honest with you. And I didn't say you can't put him in here. You're right. It is _your_ district. What I said was that I don't know if it's safe given all the… psychological trauma he's obviously suffered."

"He's fine. I took him to counseling. The kid is quiet, but he's fine."

"We also have a bullying problem here."

"And that's your problem to fix. Not mine. Why don't you discipline these kids anymore?"

"I am trying to fix it," she replied, keeping her voice steady and calm. "If you're sure it's that easy, maybe you'd enjoy attending a school board meeting."

"Look, Ms. Hartman." He clenched his jaw and then took a deep breath. "My wife homeschooled him, but she's deceased—"

"And I'm very sorry for—"

"No. I don't need you to be sorry. I need you to listen. I work over fifty hours a week; I sure as hell can't teach him. The private schools clearly don't want a kid that looks like…_that_ in their precious halls. So I'm here because this is the end of the line. If you don't admit my kid, I will sue you people." He pointed his index finger directly at her.

"What about a tutor?"

"I don't have time to deal with that. Now are you going to admit him, or do I have to call my lawyer? And he is a damned good lawyer." He stared down his nose at her with an air of superiority.

Evelyn removed her glasses and rubbed her temples. "You realize that neither I nor anyone else can keep an eye on him every second of the day."

"Yes."

"Does he…wear a mask all the time?"

"Right now, yes." For the first time, the man seemed uncomfortable, his shoulders drooping. "I'm looking into various prosthetic options. The last surgery was very damaging, and it's taken time for the flesh to heal. But I can promise you that the kids will take to the mask better than…what's underneath. So will you. So do I."

Evelyn felt a tug at her heart. The boy had already been through so much. "You realize the other children will at least ask questions? I mean, that's what kids do."

"Yes. Don't you people teach tolerance? Isn't that the American way now?"

"It's supposed to be," she softly replied. Evelyn sighed and stood. "I guess we'll see Erik in one week, won't we?"

He nodded and also rose to his feet, standing over a foot above her. She could see the creases of exhaustion around his eyes. "Yes, you will. Thank you for resolving this quickly. I didn't want it to become complicated. God knows, my life has been complicated enough lately."

She imagined that he was the sort of man who had expected everything to come easy.

The boy was one of the brightest she'd ever encountered throughout all her years in education. They administered an exam to test his aptitude, and he nearly had a perfect score. In fact, it only wasn't perfect because the grader said the written portion was incomplete. Either his dead mother had been a brilliant teacher or the boy was practically a genius. Evelyn somehow suspected the latter. Despite her conversation with his father, she attempted to keep a steady eye on him throughout the first days, noticing as the other boys side-glanced him in the halls while the little girls only looked on with wary curiosity. He kept to himself, sitting alone at lunch or quietly at the back of the classroom. When teachers asked him questions, his answers were barely audible…but always correct.

No, this wasn't going to go well.

Evelyn considered trying to move him up several grades but knew that could worsen the situation; high school could be especially harsh as kids tried to figure out their identities. She quickly began to research gifted programs and online education institutions that his father had clearly been too busy to consider. It became a sort of private project of hers, and she told no one else. After all, no educator was supposed to ever become too involved with these children, right? Unfortunately, the flu hit her hard several days later, and she was confined to her house for two long weeks. With her laptop on her stomach and a white cat on her legs, Evelyn reclined on the couch and continued to click through various possibilities.

Like vultures waiting for the predators to leave, the children must have pounced during her absence.

It was around lunchtime of her first day back, and she'd spent the morning playing catch up on various administrative issues, a dull throb still in the front of her head. Two seventh graders had been caught with marijuana outside the building, and she'd already received three phone messages from parents wanting to know if the school had a terrible drug problem. Needing to escape the office, she stepped out to do one of her walks around the school, just a general check-up to make sure everything was functional. As she strolled past the cafeteria, a girl with straight black hair and dimples came running up to her. Sally Jane—probably the smartest girl in the sixth grade. "Ms. Hartman! Ms. Hartman! Ms. Hartman!"

"What? What? What?" she asked, momentarily amused until she saw the concern on the child's face.

"Thomas is doing to _die_!"

"Thomas is going to _what_?" She knew better than to ask more questions. Time could be everything in these situations. "Sally, show me what's going on this instant."

Evelyn's heart nearly stopped as she turned a corner of the hall and looked down. Erik was practically sitting on the stomach of the brunet boy, leaning forward and holding two ends of a shoelace across each other and tightly around Thomas's neck. Thomas's face was turning white as he sputtered and choked. "Oh my…." She bent down and grabbed Erik's cold hands, trying to release his grip from the string, but he held tight. "Erik, let go!" she screamed once she found her voice. "Let him go!"

Her voice seemed to shock him out of it. Dropping the string, he turned to stare up at her with those haunting yellow eyes, and Evelyn nearly felt hypnotized. Both were breathing heavily. His flesh-colored mask was slightly askew, and she could see a small glimpse of the tragedy beneath it. "Erik, go to the office right now. _Right now!_" He stood and backed up, watching her with his head slightly tilted to the side. Then he turned and ran.

Evelyn would have been lying if she said she wasn't slightly afraid of that boy in those seconds. The intelligence and pain and _anger_ in those strange eyes was gripping, and he clearly had physical strength to match. And if he ever reached the height of his father…. She swallowed and looked back down at the other boy. "Thomas, are you hurt?" He rubbed the red markings on his neck, tears forming in his eyes. His breathing was normalizing, though, and there was no blood. She took his hand and helped him off the ground. He coughed several times. "I want you to go to the nurse's office and stay there until I come, understand?" He nodded and sniffled. She watched to make sure he obeyed her orders.

Sally Jane was still standing there and also watching, her face a little pale. All the other children began to scatter, obviously afraid of being associated with the scuffle.

Evelyn sighed. "Sally? Can you tell me what happened?"

"Well…I think Thomas and his friends were going to put his head in the toilet again. They saw his face one day and said it was so ugly that it belonged in the toilet. And then…then today he didn't let them…."

"How long has this been going on?"

"I dunno. Maybe a week? I told my math teacher, but she said that sixth grade was too old to be a tattletale."

"Thank you, Sally. You're…not a tattletale. You can go to lunch now. I'll call you out of class if I need you again." She hoped that little girl was successful in life. A doctor or…something.

Thomas was the youngest son of the coach of a high school basketball team, and she'd already had meetings with his father regarding discipline problems concerning his two older children. It was a useless battle. _Boys would be boys….S_he wrote up the incident as a silly fight and not what it nearly appeared to be. Evelyn told Thomas's father that both children were responsible, and wasn't it so funny how boys already needed to be macho and prove themselves at this young age? He'd finally laughed heartily and agreed. _Boys will be boys!_ Probably not wanting to look like a weakling in front of his dad, Thomas kept quiet. That whole situation was a mess in itself. Still, at least she could keep Erik out of a juvenile detention center. But she couldn't keep him in that school.

"What the hell am I supposed to do?" Erik's father asked, hands spread out in front of him.

"I don't know." She looked down. "He's smart enough to be in an older grade, but I could never recommend you putting him in the high school. Like I said, why don't you hire a tutor? That combined with online courses would be a good bet."

"You wouldn't spew that at me if you didn't know my income."

"Well, I don't know your income. But, yes, I know you're a man of means and…well….What do you want me to say?" Evelyn stood to shut her door and lowered her voice. "I don't want to be the one to teach him that he can't defend himself. But I can't allow what almost happened yesterday to happen again. Either he's going to be hurt…or he's going to badly injure someone else." She looked down at her wrinkled hands. "If you want to take legal actions, I will be prepared to claim that Erik is a threat to the other children. Do you really want that on his record?"

"Why don't you kick that Thomas kid out? He's the threat!"

"Because Thomas is typical and someone else would just take his place. Erik is…different. He's a walking target. And you know that."

"You're completely powerless!" he spat at her. "You're pathetic!"

"You're right," she replied. "I can't fix the system. Please. Get your son a tutor. For his sake. Give him a chance."

With a final glare and an obscenity, he left and took Erik with him. She never saw them again.

Later that week, Evelyn checked the files and pulled out the aptitude test, flipping through to the writing section. The prompt was: _"Describe a time when you and your friends worked together as a team. What was your part in the project? Did you and your friends succeed? What did you learn about teamwork?" _

Erik's response was one sentence.

"_I have no friends."_

The next day, Evelyn Hartman notified her superiors that she would be retiring.

* * *

**2038**

"Erik, do you have any yarn?"

After everything, it almost seemed like a silly question. Christine didn't really miss anything about the community except for some of her handcrafts. The motions of knitting or crocheting always helped her relax when she was tense. And she had good reason to be on edge these days.

He glanced at her from the piano. "I can certainly get some for you."

"Thank you. And some knitting needles and crochet hooks, too, please." She glanced back at the television where a movie was playing. It had been made in the 1990's but kept having flashbacks to the 1960's and 70's, so she found it somewhat helpful in figuring out parts of the past. The last few days had been calm as she'd taken her place in that underground world. Despite her actions at Cameron's ceremony, he seemed to trust her again. "So Erik…I have a question…."

"Christine has a question? _Shocking._"

She half-glared. "Can you really blame me?"

He chuckled. "What is it, my beauty?"

"So what happens to people who don't want to be in the community? Like Raoul?"

"They are leaving."

"All of them?"

"People who do not want to join Cameron will disappear from where he governs, obviously. What else would happen to them?"

"Oh. I guess you're right…." She thought over it for a moment before continuing. "You know, Erik, I was thinking that maybe…maybe I can help in other ways. I always thought it'd be fun to be a teacher. We were required to spend a lot of time with kids to prepare for being…mothers. I didn't really like looking after the tiny babies. They were cute, but I liked the older children a lot better. I liked teaching them things."

"Your only focus as far as the community is concerned needs to be singing."

"I know. But, maybe, if things change…."

"We will find a way to accommodate all your desires, I am sure."

She nervously laughed. "Because, Erik, if we don't educate people more, then only you and I will know all this stuff."

He glanced at her. "And that is a concern? So long as they are fed, I doubt they care what they know."

"But when things are better…."

"Perhaps." He stood, touching her head as he passed to go into one of his rooms. "You are quite precious."

Christine wrinkled her nose in confusion. He seemed so unconcerned with the things that were worrying to her. She already felt powerless in the situation, and his nonchalant attitude didn't help. When he emerged, his next words perked her up. "I am going out this evening on simple business- to an area that is not too terrible. Middle class, you might say. You may accompany me."

"Yes, I'd like that." She often wanted to go outside but didn't really know what the destination should be outside of the theater. Really, she felt no sense of belonging now, except for in Erik's home. It made her a little sad.

As they journeyed to the surface and toward the simple brown car, she asked, "Do you drive?"

"Of course." He sounded amused. "But it is wiser to focus my attention on my surroundings and allow someone else to steer."

"I've never driven." She frowned at her inadequacy. "But I guess a lot of people don't have cars now."

"When they did, it was wretched. Lines and lines of idiots every morning and afternoon, chomping on fast food and honking their horns as they waited to go home to their insignificant lives."

"At least they had jobs."

"I suppose. If you could call them that."

Bright lights soon caught her eyes and distracted her, and she remembered driving through this section on her way to the police station. A small smile formed on her lips as she glanced around, no longer nearly naïve as she had been the first time. At least this placed showed some life and semblance of the past. They drove past that area and to a slightly more rundown section, stopping in a parking lot alongside some brick shops.

"I will return in ten minutes," said Erik.

Her face fell. "Can't I get out?"

"It is still not entirely safe here. I would prefer you remain in the car."

"Please, Erik. Can't I at least open my window? I swear I won't run."

He waved his hand to the side. "Fine. Open the window, if you must."

She eagerly let the warm breeze wash over her and clear her head. The noises were refreshing, people talking softly as they passed, some with children and others with dogs on leashes. There was life here. What was left of it anyway….

Something moved in the corner of her vision, and Christine glanced toward it. Leaning out the window slightly, she could see that it was a woman in her fifties or sixties, her tattered grey coat and matted grey hair making it obvious that she was homeless. The woman didn't look nearly as sick as the people in the other…place, but she was slowly heading in that direction. A white plastic spoon was clasped in her right hand as she devoured brown beans from a dented silver can. The woman grunted when they were gone, tossing the can aside with a dismayed expression and a soft, "_Dammit._" She slumped against a broken streetlamp, licking her lips.

Head half out the window, Christine watched her with growing discomfort. The woman glanced at her. "What are you staring at?" Her voice was hoarse. "What do you want? I can be here. This ain't anyone's property."

"No. I know. I wasn't staring. You're fine," Christine replied, feeling her face warm. "I…I know where you could find shelter."

The woman laughed crudely. "Where the hell are you from? Mars? Shelters are overflowing into the streets."

Christine wasn't used to this sort of verbal abuse. Still, she tried again. "You could go to…the Community. With Cameron Lourdes. They give _everyone_ food and shelter."

The woman stared at her and then began to laugh loudly, her body shaking with the sound. "Thanks, kid," she said between snorts. "I needed a good laugh tonight."

"Why is it funny?" she softly asked, really wanting to know. "It's the truth, and—"

"Christine!?"

Startled, she turned toward the familiar voice. Her eyes widened and her heart leapt to see Raoul Chagny standing there, very out of place in a pressed pair of brown slacks and white dress shirt. He was extremely handsome, and Christine whispered his name in shock.

The driver glanced up suspiciously. "I think you'd better close the window."

"Please give me a moment," she frantically replied, turning back to her old friend.

"I didn't think I'd see you again!" he exclaimed, bending down to her level. "What are you doing out here? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm…." She searched for an explanation. "Helping with the community."

"I…didn't think they let anyone out." He glanced to both sides as though checking to see if she was alone. "I didn't know what had happened to you that night. I was so worried! But then I heard you sang again, so…."

"It's been a strange couple of weeks," she murmured, tucking her hair behind her ear. "But I'm okay."

"She wants us all to join the community," said the woman, staring between them with amusement. "Won't that be a barrel of giggles?"

Christine glared slightly. "I was just telling her where she could find food and shelter. That's all."

Raoul sighed. He discreetly pulled a twenty dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to the woman. "Could you give us a moment?"

"I'll give you twenty moments," she replied with a smile, her teeth yellow. "Thanks kid." She looked at Christine. "And thank you for the laughs, Peaches." The woman sauntered off down the street.

"So you're recruiting now," muttered Raoul, turning back to her. "I mean, I knew you were singing…."

A part of her wanted to tell him everything, to make him understand the truth, but she knew there wasn't time. Erik wasn't going to be happy about this as it was. "It's very complicated," was all she said. "But the community _can_ help people."

He shook his head and looked at the ground. "You are so brainwashed."

"I'm not! I don't have time to explain it, but-"

"Does the Spirit still talk to you? Or does he just do earthquakes now?"

"The Spirit…is real. But that all doesn't matter now. It's about helping people." A change in the air and a shift in the shadows made her sense Erik nearby; the driver had probably alerted him. "I have to go now. Please be careful! And if you don't want to join the community, then…please go somewhere safe."

"Christine—I wish…." Her window automatically rolled up before he could finish. Raoul gaped, probably thinking she was responsible. Then, after throwing up his hands in frustration, he shook his head and stomped away.

With a soft moan, she faced forward, feeling more isolated than ever. Erik climbed in beside her within seconds. Christine quickly spoke. "I had no idea he'd be around."

"I am aware of that." He sounded only mildly annoyed. "Did you enjoy your little conversation?"

"It was...useless. He doesn't understand."

"Of course he does not. He does not know desperation. Not yet." Erik paused. "And as noble as it was—I would prefer you not speak to vagrants. Some of them are…unstable."

"Well, she spoke to me first. And, Erik, I just feel so helpless. I sit in your home and read and listen to music, and then sometimes I get to sing. And it seems so…silly when everyone is out here starving to death. I feel silly."

"You are not helpless nor silly. Do not be ridiculous. These people are privileged to have you working in their favor at all, you know? " She didn't answer. After they'd driven only a short ways, he ordered the driver to stop. Christine glanced up in surprise. "Here. Let us get out."

"Where are we going?" She looked out the window to make sure they weren't in another scary place.

"A surprise for you," he replied. With a swallow, she climbed out of the car and walked beside him in the shadows, curiously glancing into the windows of the stores. He stopped beside a little shop and gestured with a hand. "Go in and pick out whatever you like for yourself. I attempted to create a preliminary wardrobe for you, but it is time for you to make your own decisions on the matter, no?"

"Are you…sure?" she asked, eyes widening. "I don't really need—"

"Go. I insist. I will pay for whatever you desire."

The store was smaller but had a beautiful selection. Christine chose three colorful dresses that were shorter than those of the community but still somewhat modest. She bought black slacks and several knee-length skirts…a matching necklace and bracelet with gold hearts…a few shiny barrettes…a silky green and black scarf to wear around her neck. "This will feed me for a week," the store owner said with a grin as Christine placed the items on the glass counter. "And don't worry, pretty lady. I've charged it to an account." _At least she'd made someone happy that night…._

"Thank you, Erik," she said, stepping out with two brown bags.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" he asked as they climbed into the car.

"It was…fun." She paused and thought back nostalgically. "My mom used to take me when I was a little girl, and we'd always get milkshakes afterwards. She was always so happy and lighthearted. If she'd lived, I think she would be my best friend." Christine paused and waited for him to take up the conversation, but Erik was silent. "What was your mom like?"

"She was to die for." He continued before she could ask more questions. "One day, we will dress you much more lavishly. For now, subtleness is better."

"I don't really need that much, Erik."

"You do not need much, but I will give you everything." He leaned toward her in the seat. "Do you realize what I can give you, Christine?"

"You-you've already given me a lot," she replied. And she suddenly saw something in his eyes that made her question everything. He was so completely indifferent to the world, to the suffering and heartache around them. But then there were these times when his eyes burned, and Christine knew that he wasn't an emotionless brick wall. She looked away, afraid of something that she couldn't define.

When they returned to his home, Erik played a soft song on the piano, and she listened to it, peacefully curled up on the couch with a cup of warm tea. It ended, and she rose to put her empty cup in the kitchen. As she returned and walked past him, he spoke to her. "Cameron will request you to sing again soon. He is fast realizing the benefits of advertising. I trust we will not see a repeat of the last performance?"

"No," she murmured. "I promise. I just want to help."

"Good." She started to go to her room. "Christine?" His voice was so soft that she barely heard him.

"Yes?" She nervously turned.

His gaze was fixed on the floor. "I have a request of you. You may refuse; it will affect nothing. It is not a demand."

"What is it?"

"My skin is like ice," he slowly began, nodding his head toward his bare hands on the piano keys. "I am not ill; it has always been that way. But you must be warned."

"I'm…sorry," she softly replied, not understanding what this had to do with her. "Maybe a doctor could help?"

"Doctors can do _nothing_. They are the most useless creatures on the planet."

"Oh."

His voice shook slightly. "I want nothing more than to touch your hand. But I do not want you to cry out…."

"_What?_"

He closed his eyes and turned away. "Never mind. Forget this. I am tired, and my mind is not right. The air in this country cannot be good for one's head, can it? No, it will drive us all mad. Completely mad, Christine. Never mind. Go to bed."

She stared at him. Hesitantly and keeping a distance, she held out her hand as though waiting for a handshake. Maybe she should have run, but he seemed so…lost. Maybe they were both lost.

He stared at her offer for several seconds; she almost gave up and ran away from the strangeness of it. Finally, he slowly lifted a long, bony hand from the piano. After another hesitation, he clasped her fingers with his own. His skin was freezing, and his warning made it only slightly less shocking. The chill seemed to travel up through her palm and into her wrist.

"You are so warm," he murmured. He closed his eyes and sighed. "Thank you, Christine."

He finally released her, and she stepped backward with only a nod, so confused that she thought her mind might explode. The world around them was in flames and all he wanted was to touch her hand?

As she went to bed, the coldness of his skin still burned her flesh.

* * *

Cameron watched as they entered his office, hiding a smile, still finding the sight of the dark figure next to the blonde girl intriguing. When he observed Erik interacting with her, it made the Spirit slightly less intimidating. Erik was a man, and he would have needs like any other man. The contrast of light and dark was also rather biblical, he supposed. Although Cameron was unable to draw any deeper meaning from it….

He'd wanted to speak to Erik as well as for the girl to sing at a smaller event that celebrated the opening of a new section of the community. It was twice as large as the current district-the product of months of constructing new homes and shops as well as hundreds of man-hours landscaping trees and flowers. Millions of dollars had gone into the project, and the community was larger than ever. The rapid success almost made him nervous with godly gladness.

"Why don't you step outside and enjoy the sunshine, my dear?" Cameron said to Christine. "Just through the hall and down the stairs to your left. You will perform in an hour. But Erik and I have several very boring matters to discuss."

She glanced at Erik, and he nodded once at her. They both watched through the window as Christine stepped outside, hair glinting in the daylight. She took a seat on the grass and smoothed out her dress, watching a nearby hummingbird drink from a red zinnia. "Such a pretty thing," Cameron murmured. He glanced back at Erik. "I…imagine that you have given her information that I would disapprove of. I'm not wrong about that, am I?" The Spirit was silent. Cameron shrugged. "Inevitable, I suppose, given your position. That is why I have not taken on a spouse since the death of my first."

"I have merely told her that the country is a disaster, and we are helping to save it. She is eager to help as well."

"Well, that is the truth, more or less. And, of course she wants help. She is a very godly girl. But…you haven't told her of the butterflies?"

"No."

"And she does not know that we have…sped up the inevitable collapse of the country?"

"She will never know that," Erik said in a low and threatening voice.

"Good. That is how it has to be, unfortunately. Women cannot understand the darker nature of the world…and the steps that must be taken to purify it." Cameron smiled sadly and shook his head. "Elections are coming soon. I have many men in the running. Should I begin devoting more resources to them?"

"Do so for appearances. The security around electronic voting in this state is laughable. And, by then, no one will doubt our victories."

"How so?"

"That is only for me to know at this time. An October surprise. One that will begin the end."

While annoyed, Cameron chose not to pry, knowing it wouldn't get him anywhere. "We are that close then…." He paused. "It is just so…odd to have this all at the tip of my fingers. But I am ready, Erik. This is where I was meant to be. I am but a humble man with a large task." He took a deep breath.

Erik closely watched the girl her as he spoke, head tilted and hands behind his back. His voice was distant. "Still, Mr. Lourdes, depending on your objectives, you must strengthen your connections in the more distant regions. I can create chaos, but that will only lead to anarchy. You must bring the order you desire. There will be a calm during the summer, the eye of the storm, so that you may form your alliances. The violence and despair will then return, and the community must become the beacon of hope."

Cameron nodded. "My connections in the military will guard us and argue for our legitimacy. After all, you have made sure that there is no link between us and any of the recent violence…."

"Our hands are clean."

"Good," Cameron replied. "I am working on my other alliances, although communication is difficult these days. You never know whom may be listening. But I do have a godly man in our northern neighbor ready to represent me. He may be heavy-handed, but that is a preferable quality in these dark times. Still, I could use help with creating these connections…."

Erik chuckled coldly. "I am not a people person, Mr. Lourdes. No one desires to dine with me, and my face is not one you want on a poster. And, frankly, I would sooner cut off an appendage than sit through such a meeting."

"But _she_ is a people person, isn't she? And she is going to be the wife of my most powerful ally. If we must have a pretty face for our cause—and it seems we must—then I can think of no better." Cameron paused. "But she will be _your_ wife, so you have ultimate say in her affairs, of course." He side-glanced Erik and prepared for another round of threats for broaching the topic again.

Not this time, it seemed. Something had changed.

Something _wonderful _had happened.

Still watching the girl, Erik touched the window with the tips of his fingers. He barely whispered the words, but Cameron heard them. _"My bride."_

Cameron grinned. And then he said a quick prayer of thanks.


	13. Chapter 13

Thanks again to everyone! I'm glad you guys enjoy the flashbacks as they're fun to write. There will probably be only 3 or 4 more glances at the past after this one as they are valid to the themes of the story. This is probably the least angsty of them all, so I hope you enjoy it. Especially because of what follows in the great year of 2038….

_**Near Present Day**_

The spotless house was so quiet that it made him a bit nervous, and he clenched and unclenched his hands several times. Where was the life that came with a child—the noise and mess and healthy dose of spontaneity? A photograph of a beautiful couple on their wedding day hung upon the wall, along with a headshot of the woman in a shiny black frame. There were no pictures of a little boy, no signs of youth. _Please tell me I haven't walked into some sort of serial killer's trap. It's not as though I found this job on CraigsList…._The thought almost made the darker-skinned man laugh out loud.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" asked his host and perhaps future employer.

He politely smiled. "No, I'm just fine."

"Please take a seat then," said the tall man, gesturing with a hand. He did so, and the large armchair was extremely soft and comfortable. "It's great to have you here, Dr. Nabavi."

"Please. Call me Farrokh."

"Farr-_okh_." His host gave a short laugh. "I hope I pronounce that right. I…also hope you don't mind me asking-why is a man with your background tutoring children now?"

"Only highly gifted children. And, well, several reasons. I grew tired of university bureaucracy. And of being up past midnight writing grants and trying to get funding. And then when I did get funding, it was often from the Department of Defense. I often wondered whether my research was being used for good or-Ah, don't get me wrong; that life was good to me. But…it was not how I wanted to spend my last decades."

He nodded. "I can understand. If I still have the same job when I'm sixty, I won't be a happy camper."

"Hm. Well, I have to admit that I am very eager to meet Erik. From your e-mail correspondence, he sounds like a very bright child."

All traces of happiness disappeared from the man's face at the mention of his son. Farrokh had the feeling that his host would have preferred to talk about any other topic for the entire afternoon. "Erik is smart. The phrase 'too smart for his own good' would probably apply." Farrokh chuckled at this. "He is…_incredibly_ awkward, though. Quiet and not all that…err…polite when he does speak. I hope that isn't a problem for you."

"I don't believe so. Very intelligent children sometimes have a difficult time fitting in. Erik even more so, I'm sure. Now, I'm no psychologist, but I do understand these challenges." He paused before cautiously adding, "Very sorry to hear about his mother."

"Yes." Erik's father glanced down and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "That certainly didn't help things. Don't get me wrong; my wife had good intentions but zero coping skills. It probably wasn't…in either of their best interests for me to leave the boy alone with her day after day…."

"I am sure you did your best." They awkwardly sat in silence for several seconds before Farrokh said, "Well, I know we have much more to discuss, but I think it would be best if I met him."

"Ready to jump in with the sharks?" he replied with a morose chuckle. "That's fine. Let me see if we can get that kid out of his room."

From the moment that Farrokh saw the boy, he knew that this wasn't going to be like any other mentorship he'd had in the past. And it wasn't just because of the hidden disfigurement or the obvious intelligence. There was something less definable; maybe it was the strange blend of curiosity and indifference in the boy's eyes. The simultaneous apathy and desire for something more.

He smiled, bent forward, and held out a hand. "Hello, Erik. I'm Farrokh."

Erik only stared. "Where are you from?"

After recovering from his surprise at the startling timbre of the child's voice, Farrokh replied, "I was born in Iran, but I left to go to school in the U.S. when I was about nineteen. And I've lived in New England since then." He paused when he received no response. "Your father tells me you're very smart."

The boy shrugged. "I am."

He heard Erik's father sigh behind them. While Farrokh wasn't offended in the slightest by the boy's mannerisms, his dad was obviously annoyed.

"The great thing about learning at home is that we can go as quickly as you want," continued Farrokh. "You will never get bored."

"What are your qualifications?" Erik asked, looking him up and down like a scientific specimen.

Farrokh started and then chuckled. "Didn't you know? I stayed at a Holiday Inn Express last night." Erik's father guffawed at this, but the boy only looked at him as though he were the lowliest creature on earth. Farrokh's smile disappeared, and he truthfully answered, "For starters, I was a tenured physics professor for twenty-five years."

"What was your focus?"

"Recently, laser technology and quantum optics. You're welcome to read the papers I published if you want to know more."

"I would like to read them." Erik glanced away and returned to his book.

"Wow," stated his father as the two men stepped back into the hall. He shut the door behind them.

"Didn't go so well?" asked Farrokh, smoothing out a pants leg. "I may need a little more time to—"

"Are you kidding? I can't believe how much he tolerated you. The last woman left in tears. If you want the job, you're hired. We can work out the details right now."

Call him crazy, but he wanted the job.

It took some time to set up the perfect curriculum, but Farrokh took great pleasure in the new project. He researched various books and online programs that he thought would suit a child of Erik's aptitude, even choosing several college texts. Per the arrangement, he was required to be at the house from morning to afternoon on the weekdays, but Erik was very adept at teaching himself. Farrokh would explain more complex concepts in science and math. To his surprise, he would also have to clarify human interaction in novels when Erik became agitated.

"Why does that girl always cry?" he once asked after reading a chapter from a book that Farrokh had believed would be good for literature studies.

"Well, she misses her lover and is worried he will die in the war," Farrokh replied, thinking it was a fairly obvious reaction.

"Why doesn't she simply find someone else?"

The older man scratched the back of his head. "Because…she loves _him_. It's not so easy to just find another lover." Erik's eyes were still filled with exasperation. Farrokh tossed the book aside. "Let's leave that for when you're a bit older."

Their favorite shared times were the science experiments, usually completed in the kitchen or the spacious backyard. Farrokh would bring in all sorts of equipment and supplies that couldn't be found in any public school. Erik loved nothing better than to stare into the beakers of combined chemicals, waiting to see how they would react with each other. He would shift from foot to foot, nearly bouncing up and down with excitement. It warmed Farrokh's heart to meet someone so young who loved science so much.

Their relationship remained very professional throughout the first year. Erik was quiet and aloof but generally polite, although there were occasional days when he refused to leave his room and told Farrokh in no uncertain terms to "Go away."

"Erik, you will learn to show people some goddamned respect!" his father had shouted the first time this happened. "Now get out here, or you will be punished." Erik had opened the door and glared up at them both. "Tell Farrokh that you're sorry." Erik only continued to glower. His father roughly grabbed him by the shoulder. "Tell him you're sorry!"

"I am sorry!" Erik nearly spit out the words. He turned around and slammed the door.

"Maybe we'll have a day of rest," said Farrokh, somewhat disturbed. "He's worked very hard and deserves one."

"Ugh," his father muttered as they walked down the hall. "Kid gets into these moods, and nothing can be done with him. All because I brought a woman over last night."

"A woman?"

Erik's father shrugged and glanced down. "Getting back in the game is hard with a kid like that. But, you know, I'm only forty-one years old. I've gotta live a little, right? Not going to roll over and die." He paused. "Do you have a special someone?"

"Oh. No. My wife passed away three years ago of illness, and I…haven't really felt the desire."

"Oh. Sorry to hear that." He gave Farrokh a friendly pat on the back. "Good luck with the kid today. I'll be home a little late but will of course increase your compensation."

"That will be…fine."

Erik was quiet and especially cold for the rest of the week. As Farrokh had said on his first day, he was no psychologist—but sometimes he wondered if Erik was still suffering from the effects of some sort of attachment disorder. His father certainly wasn't affectionate, and his mother obviously had had…problems. Who knew what sort of trauma he had gone through as an infant or toddler? Still, Farrokh decided to keep his focus on academics and not be a busybody.

That is, until a day arrived when he was directly asked to do otherwise. It was nearly two years into their arrangement, and Erik had just turned thirteen. As Farrokh walked into the entryway, he heard an argument upstairs and leaned in to eavesdrop. _So much for not being a busybody…._

"Why do you have to be so weird at these things?" his father harshly asked. "Just talk to people!"

"They stare at me," the boy replied in a softer voice. "They hate me. And I have nothing to say to them."

"They don't hate you! Make conversation. Don't stand in a corner with your arms crossed the whole time like some sort of freak. That sort of attitude is not going to make life easier for you! Grow up!" A door slammed, and the walls vibrated. His father stomped down the stairs, shaking his head and muttering beneath his breath. He started when he noticed that Farrokh was standing there. "Good God," he said as he headed toward the door. "If you can teach that kid some social skills, I will give you a million dollars."

"What happened?" asked Farrokh, now that he had been invited into the fray.

"A shrink said he needed to get out more. So my colleague had a birthday party for his kid, and I figured I might as well take Erik. All that boy did was linger in the corner like some sort of ghost. If he acts like that his whole life, of course people are going to be afraid of him. Of course no one will like him. Argh!" He rubbed both his large hands over his face. "I'm at a loss. I've never understood that boy. I doubt I ever will."

Farrokh sighed. "Well, he hasn't been out much. It must be hard for him. But I…I'll see what I can do…."

Several days later, when they were finished with a smoke-producing experiment that put Erik in a relatively good mood, Farrokh brought him into the living room. Once they were comfortably seated on the couch, he asked, "Erik, do you know how to talk to people?"

The boy tilted his head. "Obviously. That is a stupid question. I am talking to you right now."

"All right, sure. We talk about your schoolwork. But sometimes you have to make friendly chitchat with people."

"Why?"

"Well, for example, when you're looking for a job. You need to learn how to make connections. You have a meal and talk about silly things like sports or the weather…anything. Or, you know, making friends is important. When you go to college in several years, one of your peers might say, 'Hey, Erik. How about we go out for a drink after class?' Or…." Farrokh grinned. "Girls, Erik."

The boy sharply looked down at the ground. "I do not understand _them _at all. They scare easily and whine and cry over the stupidest things."

Farrokh laughed and lightly touched him on the shoulder. "No one really does. But you need to have the right lines. 'Hi. How are you? You look nice. Of course I'll help you clean the house. '"

"I sincerely doubt they will ever want anything to do with me."

"As you get older, people will understand your…." Farrokh gestured to his own face. Erik continued to look at the floor. "You'll always be smarter than most people. And that can be isolating at times. But…well…let's give it a quick try." Farrokh cleared his throat. "Hello, Erik. How are you today?"

"Fine."

Farrokh waited and then smiled gently. "So now it's your turn to ask me how _I_ am."

"How are you?" he stiffly asked.

"I'm doing great, thank you. So, Erik, have you seen any good movies lately?"

"No. They have all been terrible." Farrokh chuckled, and Erik glared slightly and asked, "Why is that so amusing to you?"

"It's not. It's a perfectly valid response. How about music? What are your favorite genres?"

"Classical or modern instrumentals. I prefer no voices."

"You don't like songs where people sing?"

Erik hesitated and seemed to think deeply about this. "I have never heard a voice that I truly enjoy. They are all off. I cannot…explain it exactly."

Farrokh nodded "That's fair. To be honest, I can't stand most music these days. But then I'm an old, grouchy man."

They sat in silence for several minutes. Erik finally glanced at him and seemed to be judging whether to trust him. He then said in a soft voice, "People hate me because I am very ugly. But I am smarter than all of them. I am better than all of them at nearly _everything_. I am superior. So why should I care if they all dislike me?"

"Well." He sighed. "Because life can get very, very lonely without people. No matter how smart you are, what you've accomplished, there's something…something very wonderful about coming home to a warm pair of arms."

Erik stared at him. And then, for the first time since he had known the boy, Erik genuinely laughed. It was really a beautiful sound. "You are a strange, sentimental sap, Farrokh. Still, you are more intelligent than most people in this stupid country. So I guess I'll overlook it."

Farrokh smiled sadly as Erik soon returned to one of his beloved science books.

* * *

**2038**

This time, when Christine finished her song, she only smiled. Maybe it wasn't a completely genuine smile. Maybe she had the lingering feeling that something was…wrong with this situation. But she still beamed down at the audience. She could feel Erik watching her from somewhere unseen. To her relief, there were no magic tricks at this event. When she left the stage, Cameron quickly stepped back up to take her place.

As she only half-listened to what their leader was saying, her mind in other places, Christine became aware of a conversation behind her.

"But I want to play tag!" cried a little girl. "I want to play tag with the boys!"

"Little girls do not play tag," replied the stern voice of her father. "You will stand here and listen to our savior and be right with the Lord."

"But I wanna play!"

"If you do not behave, you will be placed into the closet for the rest of the day to think about your sin. Is that what you want?"

"No," she replied. "Please don't…put me in there. It's so scary in there."

"Ask for forgiveness."

She sniffled. "Please forgive me for disobeying my parents."

"Again."

"Please forgive me for disobeying my parents."

Christine inwardly shuddered as memories of her own childhood return to her. It didn't seem right, did it?" Yet…wouldn't it have been even worse for the girl to lie starving in an alleyway? Christine remembered the dead little boy and shivered again. Yes, this suffocating lifestyle was better.

"Now there is a godly woman," said the father, nodding at Christine as she walked past them to find Erik. "I bet she does not want to run around with the boys."

"Never," Christine murmured. With a hidden smile, she recalled chasing Raoul around the backyard, in her swimming suit no less, after he'd dabbed pink cake icing on her nose.

As the community added new structures, some several stories high, there were more shadows scattered about the area. Erik met her within them. Although she couldn't see his mouth, his eyes seemed to smile at her. "You did beautifully," he stated.

"Thank you. Everyone…seemed to enjoy it." As they sat in the fancy car during the drive home, she recalled the little girl and softly asked, "Erik? I still don't understand why the strictness is necessary? We could help these people without making them follow all these rules."

"We could not. The outside is chaotic, and these people require, no _crave_, order and discipline. And while I do not necessarily agree with the philosophy that is stressed, that is Cameron's matter. He operates under certain beliefs."

"Cameron is in charge," she said almost to herself. That fact still hadn't cemented itself in her mind. Erik was smarter than Cameron. He didn't believe in most of what Cameron said. So…."I know you do all this because you want to help people. But why aren't you the one in charge? Then you could do things in a better way than Cameron, right? Why does he get to decide everything?"

Erik stared down at her, finger drumming on the seat. "Truthfully, my beauty, I had not planned on remaining here so long. I meant to give minor assistance to Cameron and then be gone to other projects. Circumstances have changed within the last year, and so your question is…valid." She smiled slightly at the acknowledgement. "For now, it is best to think of it as…a partnership."

"A partnership?"

"Yes. You see, for the moment, Cameron Lourdes and I have a common goal. And we work toward that goal well together—establishing a better society for all these poor, poor people." Christine nodded in agreement. "Later, when the country as you knew it is no more, we will focus on…_who_ is in charge of _what_…." He paused. "Does that make sense to you, my dear?"

She nodded again. It did make sense. And yet that sensation of wrongness still tugged at her heart and mind….

"Such a smart girl," he murmured.

The next couple of weeks passed similarly. She had her academic lessons and her voice lessons, quickly growing more proficient in both. Christine could be nothing but eternally grateful of the fact that Erik had allowed her such an education. His breadth of knowledge was amazing. Now that he trusted her, he would often take her to the surface in the evenings and allow her to explore the few remaining shopping centers and parks. One time, she asked for cheese pizza, and he laughed and immediately agreed to the excursion. He would touch her hair often and call her "my beauty." Only once more, again before bedtime, did he ask to hold her hand again. She allowed it.

She became comfortable. Maybe _too_ comfortable in this strange existence.

Yes, she became far too comfortable.

It was early June, and the air was warm and humid. Cicadas buzzed in the evening, and she occasionally swatted away a fly or mosquito. They were in the abandoned theater, and Erik had made her go to the balcony to work on projecting her voice. At the end of their lesson, he had sung again, and so Christine felt lightheaded and breathless as she stared over the edge. Invigorated, she started to carefully make her way back down the stairs.

"Christine."

She turned. "Yes, Erik?"

She was startled to see that he had turned away from her, his gloved hands resting on the edge of the balcony. His shoulders rose and fell with deep breaths. "Cameron is willing to allow you to do more on behalf of the community, if you so wish. Beyond singing."

"I would like that, depending on what he wants. You know I want to help however I can."

"There is a condition." He still refused to look at her.

Several nervous butterflies found their way into her stomach. _Why was he acting so strangely?_ "What is it?" He was silent for a very long time. "Erik, what is the condition?"

"As I told you weeks ago, I want a…a companion."

"Yes. I remember. We are kind of companions, though, aren't we?" She didn't know what else their strange relationship might be called.

"Yes. And there are things I will never ask of you. _Never._ I only ask that you remain at my side and in my company. So long as I live, you will never belong to another. That is all I will ask." His voice was soft and distant.

"What are you saying?" she whispered.

"Because, so long as you stay at my side, I will give you the world." He finally turned toward her in one fast motion, reaching out toward her with both hands. His eyes were so intense that she stepped backward. "Clothing, jewelry, books, _anything_. And perhaps someday I will take you to another country on vacation, and we will walk the streets of London or Paris at night. You would adore it, Christine. And I will ask so very little of you. Only that you are _mine_."

She shook her head as her heart pounded. "I still don't understand."

"If you want to take an active part in the community, if you want more freedom, then Cameron Lourdes insists that we wed."

Her heart nearly stopped, and she couldn't stop the soft gasp that escaped her lips. "I d-don't…."

"And I want you, Christine. As my wife. There will never be another for me but you." He turned back around to stare over the balcony. "As I said, you will not be forced to do anything abhorrent. I swear that to you."

A cold sweat formed on her forehead as she stared at his back, and the room swayed back and forth. She grabbed the wall to keep from fainting, a billion thoughts swirling through her panicked mind.

For years, before the Spirit had spoken to her, she'd sickly anticipated an arranged marriage to someone she barely knew. This was true. Still, Erik was a thousand times more imposing and complex than any of the younger boys of the Community. _And she hadn't even seen this man's face!_ In fact, all she'd viewed of him were his ice-cold hands. While he fascinated her, she still feared him, still would shiver when he walked too near. He confused her and seemed miles beyond her comprehension, still more Spirit than man in some ways….

On the other hand, at least she wasn't confined to a small community home with some simple boy and expected to raise ten children. At least she could have an education and hold onto many pieces of the past, books and music and movies. She could go places and sing. Wasn't the life being handed to her much better than the one she had anticipated?

But…but some part of her mind still wanted to believe that marriage was about that vague concept of…of _love_. Not practical arrangements. Not bribes. Not desperation. She remembered how her mother and father had been—the way they'd looked at each other…the smiles and joyous laughter. Yes, _love._ Shouldn't marriage come from love?

Or were such thoughts naïve in this cold, hopeless world? Would marrying Erik be her best chance for survival?

Despite the heat, a chill traveled through her entire body. Christine did the only thing she knew to do—delayed the decision…delayed upsetting him for as long as possible. "I think…that…I need time," she nearly choked out.

"How much time?" he hoarsely asked.

"I d-don't know. Until the end of the year…."

"You will marry me in December?" His voice trembled as he turned to face her. That wasn't how she had wanted him to interpret her words. Christine had only meant that she would _decide_ by December. But Erik continued before she could protest. "Yes. Yes, a winter wedding for a white angel. December it is, my beauty. Oh, Christine! We will have everything. The world! It will be perfection." As she stood frozen against the wall, he rapidly approached her, holding something in his right hand. "You will wear this." He carefully took her limp left hand and slid a gold band onto the ring finger; it fit tightly, strangling her. "Never remove it," he commanded, clasping her hand with his own. "It is a sign of your pure devotion."

She stared down at the simple piece of jewelry in shock, her stomach turning in fear. "Erik, I don't know if…." Her words were weak and garbled.

"No more words are necessary," he whispered, touching her hair. "You have made me gloriously happy, my beauty. You don't even know what you have done…."

She didn't know. She knew nothing.

He took her back downstairs, a bounce in his smooth steps and his yellow eyes shining with joy. As soon as they returned, she told him that the excitement had made her very tired.

"Of course. Of course," he replied, ushering her toward her bedroom. "Sleep. We will speak more tomorrow, my dear."

As Christine lay in bed that night, she tried to stop herself from having a panic attack. _Okay…I still have a long time. Six or seven months._ That was plenty of time to think and decide…or escape. To do _anything._

Unfortunately and to her dismay, that didn't turn out to be true. While her timeline had pleased Erik, it did not please Cameron Lourdes when they visited him the following day.

"December?" he asked when Erik told him the month. "No, no, no. That is over six months away. And there will be far too much happening at that time."

"But…I have to plan my wedding," she whispered.

Cameron eyed her and frowned. "There will hardly be any guests, silly girl. This will be a very private affair. People will only know that you are married to a favored member of the community. Nothing more."

"A dress…."

"You do not need six months to find a dress. Vanity is not becoming or godly, young lady. You may have three months. That is more than enough time."

"But…I…." She could think of no excuse that would be good enough for Cameron. The pleased gleam in his eyes told her he would marry them that very second if Christine wasn't careful—if she gave him reason to believe she might try to get out of this. Her shoulders slouched in defeat. She hung her head and waited for Erik to speak in her interest. But he didn't. His eyes only settled on her and stayed there throughout the meeting.

Cameron smiled and folded his hands together. "It is really excellent news. I am absolutely ecstatic. You both don't know how much you have pleased me and the Lord."

She refused to look at Erik when they were driven home, angry that he hadn't fought for more time. And terrified at what all this would mean for her. Toward the end of the drive, he touched the top of her hand. Christine faced him, her lips trembling.

"What does three months matter, my beauty?" he softly asked. "If you wish for an elaborate wedding, I will still give it to you. There is plenty of time. Although there will be few guests, I will give you the wedding of a princess. You will practically be a princess, so why not?" He paused. "And Cameron is for once correct. After September, there will be a great deal of chaos to attend to."

"Chaos?" she softly asked.

"Yes. We predict the beginning of the end by this autumn. It is best that we are wed before then, no? You do not want to hear explosions on your wedding day, do you? Not unless they are glorious fireworks!"

"No." She quickly glanced away.

That night, she did have a panic attack. In the darkness, she clutched the covers and sobbed and gasped, muffling the horrible noise with her pillow. Her heart pounded, and her thoughts became a jumbled mess. If she didn't stop this now, she would suffocate under the weight of it. Christine knew she couldn't face this, not in a mere three months. If she had to, she would fall to her knees and beg for more time. Throwing the covers off of her, she jumped out of bed and went to the door, not having any idea as to what time it might be. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for a horrible confrontation.

As soon as Christine opened the door, she heard the rush of water running. The kitchen faucet. To her relief, the sound covered her footsteps. Heart pounding, she tiptoed to the kitchen and glanced inside.

Erik's narrow back was turned toward her. His black jacket was gone, and he was only wearing a white shirt and black pants. Both hung loosely from his body, nearly engulfing his thin frame. He wore no gloves and no hat, revealing a pale head covered with sparse dark hair. A small white bottle was on the counter beside the sink, an ointment or lotion of some type. He appeared to be rubbing the substance onto his…face. Which had to be bare—because the black mask was also resting face up on the counter beside him.

Perhaps in his joy he had been careless, figuring she would sleep through the entire night.

He softly groaned in pain as he massaged his face. Or maybe an injury caused the recklessness.

She didn't know.

At that moment, she didn't care. She only wanted to finally _see. _

Before he could turn off the water, she strode into the kitchen and grabbed his left shoulder with her right hand, turning him around and forcing him to look directly at her.

And then, of course, there was no turning back from her fate.

"_Nothing changes, my beauty. My fiancée. My darling. Except now you will unfortunately know the face of your husband. But that is your loss. Not mine. I will finally have what is mine!" _


	14. Chapter 14

**Please Read: Apparently, there was a site glitch when I last updated that prevented e-mail alerts from going out. If you rely on alerts for the new chapters and didn't receive one on May 11th, you might go back and make sure you read the previous chapter. Because if you didn't- you'll be very, very confused ;) **

**Big thanks to all who left feedback! Read and Review!**

_**2017**_

Farrokh put several weeks' worth of effort into developing Erik's social skills, but the boy never quite caught on. Finally, Erik said, "I am done with these little chats. If you want to have fake dialogues, let us at least rehearse Shakespeare. I think _Richard the III_ would be ideal."

While always helpful when people needed him, Farrokh had never been a social butterfly, usually immersed in his books and research. Maybe he just wasn't the one for this job. He suggested to Erik's father that they find a therapist who excelled at helping children communicate. Farrokh never knew if the man did so, but he quietly returned his focus back to academics. If they needed to unwind or break, they would sometimes play a quiet game of chess. Erik usually won. Amidst science experiments and lessons, as Erik began to completely teach himself, Farrokh ignored the darkening clouds on the horizon. Until a day came when they could no longer be overlooked.

The air was particularly icy that day, and Farrokh could feel the chill seep through his leather coat and gloves. Sometimes he wondered if he should take his twenty-five-year-old daughter up on her offer to move him out to California. _No_- he needed to see this project out to its end. He'd already invested so much time into Erik, and he would not feel satisfied until the boy was on his way to college, free from the irritated gaze of his father and from the house that held little warmth.

The home was especially quiet as Farrokh walked inside that afternoon. He'd been asked to come later in the day and didn't question the reason. Erik's father was sitting at the kitchen table, leaning forward with his right hand over his mouth. A green wine bottle and a clear glass were beside him. "I probably should have let you have the entire day off," he murmured, briefly glancing up and lowering his hand. He didn't appear to be drunk, but there was a very troubled glint in his eyes.

"Is everything okay?" Farrokh asked, removing his coat and sitting in the chair beside him.

"Eh." Erik's father turned to face him with a sigh. "I took him to an appointment. Well, a consultation. To assess surgical possibilities."

"Oh? Any good news?"

"Not especially. Erik's immune system is highly sensitive. They think a transplant would…not be in his best interests, at least not any time soon. The drugs he'd have to take for the rest of his life, assuming they even worked, would destroy his health within ten years. And I'm sure they're terrified of more lawsuits after…." He shook his head. "Lena made this more of a mess than it ever needed to be."

"What a shame," Farrokh murmured.

"It seems like we keep making it worse." He took a drink of wine. "They want to wait until he's at least eighteen. Even then, there aren't any guarantees."

"Well, you know," Farrokh softly began. "It's a modern world. People are more tolerant."

He grunted. "Maybe I can at least get him a false nose. It's amazing…some of the things they have these days. You can get a fake face made that attaches to the bone with magnets, you know that?"

"You mean…he doesn't…have a nose?" Farrokh reflexively scratched his own.

"That's right. You've never even seen his face. If he lets you, take a look. When he was a baby, my wife had people go into hysterics when they saw it…him. One lady even called 9-11—reported that Lena was pushing around a corpse in a stroller. No wonder she went insane."

"I am so sorry," said Farrokh, having no other words. They sat in silence for a couple more moments before he excused himself and went upstairs. Of course, the door to Erik's room was tightly closed. After a brief hesitation, he knocked. "It's Farrokh."

"I do not want to see you."

At least that was better than: _Go away._

"I just thought we could have a chat." He thought fast. "I have an interesting scientific article to show you."

After several seconds, the door slowly opened. Farrokh walked inside, noting that, at fifteen, Erik was as tall as he was now—and still growing. The boy stared him directly in the eye. "Well?"

Farrokh pulled out a magazine from his briefcase. "Look at this, Erik. The government has been designing miniature robots that look like insects for weapons and spy devices. They're deadly and undetectable."

"That is what you want to show me? That is old news." Still, he took the magazine, sat on his bed, and quickly read through the article. "They have made more advances. Except…."

"Except what?"

"They are still very ugly insects. Like mosquitoes. People will want them to go away." Erik paused. "If they were beautiful, like butterflies, people would want them to stay, right? They would be more effective spying devices."

"Well, maybe. But, if they were more colorful, people would notice them. Mosquitoes blend in. But people might look more closely at a butterfly and see that it's not real."

"That is why you have to make them perfect. So that they appear to be real butterflies even if they are inches away from your face."

Farrokh scratched the back of his head and chuckled. "Perfection is hard to obtain."

"But not impossible, Farrokh."

"I guess not." He hesitated and then placed a cautious hand on the boy's narrow shoulder. "Erik, I'm very sorry about what you learned today. Don't give up hope, though."

Erik chuckled coldly and flinched away from Farrokh's touch. "Hope? It's a ridiculous concept. There is action, and there is no action. Any idiot who sits around _hoping_ for something is wasting his miserable life."

Farrokh winced. The resentment in Erik was building with each passing year. "Sometimes hope is all one has."

"Then they have nothing."

_It was worth a try._ "Erik, would you mind letting me see your face? I'm not a doctor, well not a medical doctor, but maybe I could help find a solution. There are hospitals all over the world, each with their own specialties. I could research it for you, once I know what we're dealing with."

Erik glared, quickly jumping to his feat and backing up into the wall like a cornered animal. "I do not need you vomiting on my carpet. The stench would never come out."

"I have seen many, many things in my lifetime. Wounds from war even. While I know your face hasn't made life easy for you, I'm sure that I can look. I only want to help."

"Yes, Farrokh always wants to help, doesn't he? But I know you are curious. Everyone always is." Erik paused. "Still, I don't expect you to scream or faint like a woman. No. What _will_ you do? Will you maintain your dignity?" The yellow eyes challenged him.

Farrokh held firm. "I only want to help you."

"Of course you do." Slowly, Erik took his bony fingers and peeled back the flesh-colored material that encased his entire face. As his hand dropped to the side with the mask, he continued to look Farrokh directly in the eye.

It took him a couple of seconds to take it all in. Farrokh suddenly felt woozy, and his breath caught in his throat. A cold sweat formed on his forehead. He didn't want to throw up, but it took all of his willpower not to do so. Rapidly, he turned around and placed one hand against the wall to support himself. "I'm sorry. Just give me a moment, Erik," he managed to whisper. "I will be fine in a second. I promise."

But, with a heavy heart, he knew he had failed. Silence engulfed the room.

Erik spoke again first. "You, Farrokh," he said softly. "You are the most intelligent, reasonable person I have encountered. And it made you sick. You cannot even look at me. Where is your hope now?"

Farrokh slowly turned back around and was shamefully relieved that Erik had replaced the mask. "I'm sorry. Truly, I'm sorry. We'll figure something out," he said, forcing a smile. "I'll start researching medical facilities this very afternoon."

Erik laughed, and it sent a shiver down his spine. "You think I _want_ to look like everyone else?! I _hate_ everyone. So why the hell would I want to look like them? I'm smarter and better at everything than everyone! And I _hate _them! I hate them! _And I don't want to look like them!_" He brought his arm down against a nearby lamp and sent it crashing to the floor.

Farrokh stepped backward. "Erik…."

"Get out!" he rasped. "Get out now! And don't ever come back. I don't need you anymore. I never needed you! You've been nothing but a babysitter the entire time. So don't come back!"

"Erik…."

"_Get out!" _

A tear found its way down Farrokh's wrinkled cheek as he turned and left the room. Probably hearing the commotion, Erik's father immediately met him in the living room. With one glance at Farrokh's expression, he asked, "Did that kid give you problems?"

"No. Not at all." He hesitated, rubbed his arm, and then softly said, "But…I am not sure that I should continue this job. I think Erik is old enough to be by himself…to teach himself. He already has the knowledge of a college junior, probably even higher when it comes to the sciences. The online college classes will be enough. And then he can choose a university and start his life."

Erik's father gaped. "What? No. No. You're the only person in that kid's life. What the hell did he say to you? I'll make him apologize."

"No. Look. He was right. I am nothing but a babysitter now. I'd hoped to remain his friend, but—I have enjoyed teaching him. It has been a unique experience that I'm very grateful for. But all things must end."

The man's head drooped, and he appeared extremely lost. "I'm really sorry to hear this. You're right. He is old enough. But…Jesus, you've been more of a father to him than me these last four, five years. You know that?"

Farrokh rested a hand on his arm. "I will contact you if I find any medical breakthroughs that might help Erik. You both are always free to call me if I can be of any help. Otherwise, make sure he goes to college. Make sure he…he finds his place in the world." _Or I fear he might destroy it…._

"Will do," were the man's only words.

Guilt tugged at his conscience as he left Erik's father standing in the middle of the living room. But Farrokh suddenly felt a dire need to escape the despair in that house. It was toxic and infectious—and it was beginning to take a toll on his sleep and health. If Erik didn't want him there anymore, then Farrokh could think of little reason to stay.

The next afternoon, while he was watching a documentary about the Middle Ages and trying to forget the previous day, his cell phone rang. Farrokh glanced at the name on the screen. _Zari Nabavi._ The sound of her voice immediately brought him a needed feeling of peace. "Hi there, Dad! What are you up to? Freezing your butt off, I bet."

"Yes, well, at least I can build a snowman. What do you build? A sandman?"

She laughed. "You're so weird."

"I am. Why don't you ever come visit me?"

"At this time of year? Why don't you visit me?" Her voice softened. "And you know how hard it is for me. To be up there. It always reminds me of mom."

"I know. Don't worry about it." He watched the snowflakes brush against the window glass.

"Please, please come down here. You'll love it; I promise. It'll be so much better for your health now that you're…."

"Old?" He chuckled. "Do you still have that hippy boyfriend of yours?"

"Dave is very nice, Dad. And he likes you a lot."

"Well…." He hesitated, suddenly picturing a bright sun and an ocean. "Maybe I will come down there for a vacation. I need it." Farrokh had to move the phone as she squealed into his ear.

He needed simplistic joy in his life again. Zari was a painter, and her colorful work reflected her personality. She'd once said, "I don't think I'm edgy enough for some of the other artists. But I don't care. I'm not going to paint stuff that depresses me." That was Zari; that was whom he needed right now. It was odd—but he'd never spoken to Erik of her. Maybe he'd subconsciously wanted to keep those two worlds apart.

They were the best three months he'd experienced in a while, tucked away in a quaint condo a couple miles away from the ocean. Farrokh often relaxed on the beach and drank ice tea, wearing a tacky straw hat and watching the sun rise and set. Zari took him on tours of all the major cities- San Francisco, Los Angeles, and San Diego. Dave was still somewhat of a pothead, but Farrokh ignored him. Although he did once tell Zari, "Your neighbor is a dentist, you know? And not terrible looking."

"Oh, Dad."

"You can't blame an old man for trying."

When he returned to the Northeast, still unsure as to whether he would stay or go back to California, Farrokh warily made the phone call he had been dreading. A familiar deep voice answered. "Farrokh? Wow. It's good to hear from you. How are you?"

"Doing wonderful! Just came back from a visit with my daughter. How are you?"

"Well enough." Erik's father paused. "I'm…I'm seeing someone. It's gotten serious pretty fast."

"Ah. Good for you. Congrats! And…Erik? How is he?"

Another pause. "He's…well."

Farrokh waited for more information. "Is he continuing with his studies?"

"Yeah. I think so. He uh…he has some friends, I think."

"Friends?!" Farrokh felt his heart jump. "That's wonderful news! Who? I mean, what are they like?"

"I don't know. I don't ask questions. He just…goes out at night sometimes. I let him be."

"Well, that's…that's good news."

"Yeah. Kid's finally got friends. Can't ask for much more."

A heavy feeling settled in Farrokh's chest. Something wasn't quite right. His phone beeped, indicating another call coming in. Probably his daughter, wanting to know if he would be returning. "That's good news," he said again. "I'll keep in touch." The conversation soon ended.

It was none of his business now, Farrokh told himself. Erik had ordered him to go away, and he had. Maybe the boy had finally found some good friends his own age. Maybe everything was perfectly fine. One month later, Farrokh put his home up for sale and permanently headed out toward California. He only glanced back twice, his heart still heavy.

It was New Year's Day of 2018 when he received a call from an unfamiliar number. And that voice, ever more beautiful with age, immediately spoke: "I need your help, Farrokh. The words I said to you last time…they were not…I…was not right of mind…."

"Erik?" he whispered. He'd been having lunch with a visiting old colleague and quickly excused himself from the room. "Don't worry about…that. What do you mean you need my help?"

"My father won't help." His voice was low and soft. "He's engaged now. He said he will not allow me to ruin what's left of his miserable life."

"What do you need, Erik?"

"I need to…leave."

"For college?" Farrokh asked hopefully.

"No. I need to leave this horrid country."

"Why?"

"I am in trouble, Farrokh."

His heart skipped a beat. "Why? What did you do?" _Theft? Drugs?_

A long silence passed. "I have…."

"You have _what?_"

"Killed…someone."

* * *

_**2038**_

Take several sheets of translucent yellow tissue paper. And then a few brown or tan ones. Some have little tears and jagged edges. Some have holes.

Now take a skinless human skull.

Sew the pieces of paper together, taking no care with the seams, and then hastily glue them to the bone. Some pieces stick better than others.

It was a patchwork quilt of horror.

That was Erik's face.

And it was now inches away from hers.

Mouth hanging open, Christine looked away and dizzily sunk to her knees. She sucked in air, trying to prevent herself from completely blacking out. She was underwater. He was raging at her, but she could only make out certain words. _Vile. Ugly. Handsome, aren't I? Idiot girl! Surprised. My dear? Happy? My Beauty! Husband? Never! Forever!_

_Slowly…_slowly, she looked back up. _"Keep looking, Christine!"_ he screamed. "Look until your eyes melt out of their little sockets!"

The mask hadn't been replaced, and she felt the color drain from her face as she took the horrible visage in again. Erik lurched forward as though to grab her hair or strike her, and she lurched backward onto her hands. Shaking violently, she scooted herself under the kitchen table as though that would protect her from the storm. "Please," she whispered.

"Please?" he mimicked. "Please save you from Erik? Oh, my precious darling, no one can be saved from Erik. Not even Erik himself." There was a moment of silence during which she continued to breathe heavily beneath the table, wrapping her arms around her knees and curling into a ball.

"They managed to eradicate ugly," he softly continued. "For awhile. But they did not eradicate me! You see, there are people who believe they are masters of the world. That they will solve all problems. Poverty. Hunger. Ugliness. But they fail, Christine. Like a virus, the more you try to fight it, the more it mutates. Until it explodes into a nightmare a thousand times worse than the original!"

She couldn't comprehend what he was saying. Christine remained silent, willing herself to become nothingness, to disappear and cease to exist.

"Get off the floor," he ordered. She hesitated. "The mask is replaced. Get off the floor!" His tone was too frightening not to obey.

She swallowed the bile in her mouth, climbed out from beneath the table, and stood onto wobbly legs. Christine still refused to look him in the eye, too afraid of what she would see in his gaze.

"Nothing changes, my beauty. My fiancée. My darling. Except now you will unfortunately know the face of your husband. But that is your loss. Not mine. I will finally have what is mine!" His cold hand moved beneath her chin and tilted her head upwards so that she was forced to look at him. "Still," he softly said. "I would prefer you didn't hate me. I want you to be happy. But that is your choice now." He paused. "I would never have to let you out again, you know? I would simply tell Cameron that you are being a very disobedient wife. And he would not question it, you know?"

"Yes," she whispered, feeling physically sick. "I know. Erik, I…I need to go back to bed now."

"Yes. Sleep, my beauty. Have happy dreams. Perhaps you will forget this nightmare."

She ran. As soon as she closed her bedroom door, she practically dove into the bathroom and vomited. It wasn't solely a reaction to his terrible face, more to the entire situation, to her upcoming fate and his cruel words. She would soon be forced to marry a terrifying, crazy man with the face of a corpse. How would she even get out of bed in the morning? Was dying a better option?

_No, no, no. Stop it! You can't have those awful thoughts. Everything wasn't so bad until tonight….Take a deep breath and think…._

Sitting hunched over on the bathroom rug, sweat-soaked hair plastered against her cheeks, Christine knew that the worst scenario would be if Erik never let her out again. Even in her despair and panic, she understood that she couldn't let everything fall apart. Not now. They had come so far with trust in the past few weeks, and she had nearly demolished it.

Erik wanted her to be an actress? _Fine._ She would be.

Sleep never came that night. She rested her head on the pillow and squeezed her eyes shut but remained wide awake, visions of his face and his voice replaying in her mind. Hours later, she gave up and emerged from her room, head held high. Her heart was rapidly pounding, and her hands were shaking. Still, Christine walked forward. He was at the piano. His shoulders tensed as she approached.

"Erik." Her voice was weak. She inhaled and made it stronger. "I wanted to tell you that…that you're so smart that your face doesn't matter. You're a genius. And that's what matters."

"Ha! Didn't Cameron tell you that the Lord does not approve of liars?"

"I'm not lying. You're the smartest person I've ever met. The best musician, too. And that's more important than your face. I'm sorry I acted the way I did. I was just…surprised."

He sighed. "Lying or not, you are so lovely. The fact that you will have such a hideous husband must be a disappointment."

"No. Nothing's changed. I just…wanted to see who I was marrying."

He chuckled. "And you did, didn't you, my little night owl? You saw Erik. And you will never see him again."

She hesitated. "I know what you look like. But I still don't know that much about you."

"And you do not need to. It is a very boring tale." He waved her away. "Resume your studies. We will talk later."

Christine tiptoed away, still unsure as to whether she would have freedom. Asking directly would make her appear eager to leave. After reading the same sentence over and over from a textbook, she put it down with a sigh. She then went to the closet and took out the game board, only this time bringing a bag with more varied pieces. She didn't know how to set this one up. When Erik came into the kitchen and glanced down, she said, "I want to learn how to play chess today."

There was slight surprise in his eyes. "I cannot teach you everything in a day. Certainly the basic moves. But it is all much more complex than that."

"Well, we'll have more than a day to learn, right?"

"Right," he whispered, slowly sitting down. He took the pieces and carefully began to arrange them on the board.

"I like the horses."

"Those are knights, dear girl. And they have very special qualities."

It worked. He seemed to relax as he taught her how the pieces moved and the strategies involved, becoming more animated and less guarded, the glint of hostility fading from his eyes. Whatever her intentions, she slowly began to understand the game, even if she doubted that she'd ever be much good at it. Christine was quickly learning to adapt to this new world. To survive and manipulate when she had to do so.

Still, her heart wasn't yet frozen. She didn't hate Erik. Not at all, really. In fact, his horrible face made her feel kind of bad for him. The rest of him was still completely beyond her comprehension, yet she didn't even…_dislike_ him. She didn't know what she felt. Except overwhelmed and exhausted.

Two days later, Erik announced they had business with Cameron and told her to dress nicely for the occasion. It wasn't her choice destination, but the thought of sunlight was enough to make her dash to her closet. At least he trusted her enough to let her out, although he kept a very close eye on her throughout the journey.

When they arrived, Cameron smiled in a way that made her very uncomfortable. "Now that you are officially engaged, I need a small favor, Christine."

"What, Mr. Lourdes?" She now regretted telling Erik that she wanted to do more to help.

"After Erik leaves, I have a man, Sampson, scheduled to come in with a television camera. Lines will appear on that white screen over there." He pointed. "And you will read them while he records you. Smile, of course. It may take several times to get it right. Do you understand?"

She looked at Erik. He only said, "Do you have concerns, my dear?"

Christine hesitated. "I just…um…I don't know if I'll be good at reading lines."

"With that voice and face, you will be perfect," Cameron replied with a laugh. "Silly woman. Let's at least give it a try. For the Lord."

"All right," she murmured.

Erik soon left, and Sampson came in. He resembled a younger version of Cameron with his long, brown beard. To her discomfort, she missed Erik being in the room. The men were intimidating, and they stared at her as though she were insignificant. Sampson situated her in front of one of the paintings and adjusted the lighting. Once everything was set up and the camera was focused on her, Cameron nodded once and said, "Begin."

"Good morning," she shakily began, reading the lines and folding her hands in front of her modest dress. "I'm Christine Daae. And I'm here to t-talk to you about the…Community. To set some…some facts straight. To give you…h-_hope._"

"No, no," said Cameron, signaling for Sampson to stop. "Put your arms at your side. You're also stuttering. Be modest but..confident. As you are when you sing. Start over."

"It would have helped to have seen the lines first," she muttered so that no one could hear her. With a sigh, Christine reread the lines. He didn't stop her, so she continued on. "To give you hope. You see, my dear friends, we operate under the principle that all will be provided to us if we obey the rules of God. Cameron Lourdes is extending his blessings and this message to everyone and…."

He interrupted her a couple more times to make corrections. It was nothing but an advertisement. She felt tired as she finally ended the message with a soft, "God bless you all."

"Perfect!" exclaimed Cameron, clapping his hands together so loudly that she jumped into the air. "Yes, this will do very nicely, won't it, Sampson?" The other man nodded once in agreement; he hadn't smiled throughout the ordeal. Cameron turned back to her. "You may go out and get some sunshine. You are kind of pale. Doesn't he ever let you outside? Haha. Well, he will return in thirty minutes or so, and you can stay in my yard until then."

She did as he said, blinking in the warm light. The grass was brightly green, and flowers were blooming all around her. Glancing around, she briefly wondered if this would be the time to run away. _To where?_ They were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by Cameron's guards. Before she could think about it any longer, the door suddenly opened behind her and Cameron stepped out, holding the hand of a cute little girl. "This is my granddaughter. Abigail or Abby. She wanted to meet you," he explained, releasing her hand.

"Hi there," Christine said as the girl walked toward her. She'd seen her several times at Community events. Very little was known about Cameron's family.

"Um, you sing pretty," Abby said with a smile. "And you're pretty."

Christine smiled back. "Well, thank you. You're very pretty, too."

"You will watch her, I think. Sampson and I have some business to work out." Without a word, Cameron turned around and left them there.

Although she was slightly irked that he had forced the job on her, the feeling was replaced with some warmth at being around a child again. "I helped plant these!" Abby exclaimed, proudly pointing to several roses.

"They're beautiful," murmured Christine.

"Oh, a butterfly!" Abby exclaimed, pointing at a monarch that was fluttering nearby. "Poppy says they're very good and…to never, ever hurt them. They are gifts from God."

"That's right," Christine agreed. "We definitely shouldn't hurt butterflies." She smiled as she watched it closely and then frowned slightly. She couldn't explain it, but there was something…_off_ about the creature. It seemed a little jerky in its movements. With her index finger, Christine curiously touched the insect and, instead of gracefully fluttering and floating away, it almost seemed to…_zoom_ upwards and out of her reach.

"Aw. You scared it away," said Abby, skipping around the lawn. "That's okay. Lots more are here."

After staring in bewilderment, Christine shrugged. _Maybe I really am starting to lose my mind…._

"My hair is all messed up," said Abby, stopping and touching her tousled braid. "Poppy says girls shouldn't be messy. I hope I don't get in trouble."

"I'll re-braid it for you," said Christine. "How about that?"

With a giant grin, the girl sat cross-legged in front of her. "I can't wait to tell everyone that Christine Day' braided my hair!"

Christine's heart fell a little. She was becoming a role model for these girls. Yet she was nothing but an actress. _I really have become a lie._ _But it's all for a truly good cause, right?_ _Right?_

She finished braiding Abby's hair and then they both sat in the grass and enjoyed the sun on their faces. Abby told her about a beloved pet pony that she'd recently received. It wasn't really surprising that Cameron's granddaughter had privileges that the other little girls didn't. Eventually, after what felt like longer than thirty minutes, Cameron opened the door with a smile. "All done?" he asked. Both girls stood up, brushed themselves off, and headed for the entrance. Ushering Abby inside, he whispered to Christine, "Erik is outside the usual door, ready to take you home."

He was. She couldn't read his eyes. "Were you waiting for me long?" she asked.

"I merely watched you. You seemed to be enjoying yourself."

"It was nice to be outside," she admitted. "Abby is sweet."

"She is Cameron's granddaughter."

"I know. But she's not Cameron."

Erik paused. "You really do like them, don't you? Like people."

"Well, yes. I do. Good people. Why wouldn't I?"

He shrugged, and they walked in silence.

Her brain finally made a connection as she stared at Erik from the corner of her eye. He stayed away from people, not only because of his status as the Spirit, but because of his face. Had people been cruel to him because of it? And then….

_If people hadn't been nice to him, why would he want to help them so much?_

It would be a much too strange and awkward thing to ask at this point. "Maybe I could see Mrs. Valerius soon?" she softly inquired instead.

"I think that could be arranged."

"Thank you, Erik."

He was oddly quiet the rest of the day.

When she awoke and stepped out of her room the next morning, Christine softly gasped. Arranged upon the coffee table were a wide assortment of colorful yarns, threads, fabrics and other craft material. He'd given her several balls of yarn and some knitting needles weeks ago, but nothing like this. There were also several plants and flowers situated about the room—English ivies, peace lilies, and bamboo palms among others. They added a fresh scent to the stale underground home. Erik walked up beside her.

"This is amazing," she murmured, touching one of the plant leaves. "Thank you."

"I want you to be happy," he stated. "You will be my wife. But I do not want your hatred."

Her eyes instantly filled with tears, and she slumped down onto the couch. "I don't hate you, Erik. Please just give me time to process the last few months. You can't even imagine what it's like to have everything change so fast…."

"Oh, but I can, Christine," he murmured. "A split second can change the world."

She nodded and took a deep breath, quickly wiping the tears away. Picking up a black ball of yarn off the table, she turned it over in her hands and asked, "Would you like a scarf?"

He softly laughed. "Make yourself a very warm blanket. Something to keep you safe and happy during this dark, cold winter—when your dear husband will be very busy."

He left and played the piano for a while. Then he sat nearby and simply watched her work, unmistakable contentment in his eyes.

Was this peace a lie, too?

Or a half-truth?

Or maybe just a moment that didn't need to be anything at all.


	15. Chapter 15

Thanks to everyone for the reviews, favorites, and alerts. I'm glad everyone is enjoying this. There will be a couple more chapters of flashbacks and development…and then, as you're probably anticipating given the content of the story, I hope to take you on quite the long roller coaster ride.

**Enjoy! Read and Review!**

_**2038**_

A strange quiet had settled in along with the warm weather. Maybe Raoul should have been grateful for it, but the stillness was almost uncomfortable. He felt as though he were waiting for something, and the anxiety was making him increasingly restless.

The three friends had been hoping for new rumors that the "Spirit" would show up at an event, but they had heard nothing. Cameron gave a few more speeches, and Christine sang. People continued to join the Community, although the numbers had dwindled somewhat because of the decrease in violence. "We have everything under control now," the federal government assured. "It'll just take some time for everyone to get back on their feet."

Phillip was still worried that far too many of Cameron's people were going to be elected. Some candidates from the mainstream parties were also voicing support for him, saying that his district and the surrounding ones were the only places with security and adequate resources. Raoul was helping to fight this type of thinking where he could, making phone calls and having dinner meetings.

In fact, that was what he had been doing before running into Christine that eerie night. The encounter had left Raoul depressed and also a little spooked. It was as though they were being watched the entire time, a sinister and invisible presence hovering around them in the darkness. _Fantastic. Now you believe in the Spirit, too? _Still, he'd never quite shaken the feeling.

"Well, what are we going to do?" Anthony had asked a week ago as they rode around in Raoul's car. "Wait for nothing?"

"I don't know," Raoul admitted. "Maybe see if things get better on their own now. If they do, no one will want to join Cameron. Then we don't have to go on our giant mission of doom."

"You don't sound all that confident," Meg replied.

"I used to be more of an optimist," he admitted. "About everything. It's harder now. Somewhere along the way, the glass started to look half-empty."

Several days later, he and Meg had dinner at his mother's house. Anthony hadn't been able to make it. Now that the chaos in the cities had calmed down a little, he was involved with an infrastructure project to try and repair the decaying bridges and roads in the country. Raoul was grateful that he hadn't give up and left yet; Anthony's smarts were desperately needed these days.

Meg practically gushed over his mother's baked chicken and rice dish. "I'm so happy you like it," Judy said with a rare light in her eyes. "It's really simple. I can give you the recipe."

Meg blushed. "I guess it's been a long time since I had a home-cooked meal."

"You're always welcome here," Judy replied.

After a warm apple cobbler for dessert, Raoul took her back to his apartment to watch television. Channels were sometimes limited these days, but he quickly flipped through the available ones.

"I'm not really in the mood for bloodthirsty dinosaurs," Meg said, eyeing the screen.

Raoul laughed and changed the channel. "All right, all right. Let's see. Are you in the mood for aliens?"

"Are they nice aliens?"

"Some of them."

Meg giggled. "All right then." She'd relaxed somewhat during the last few months. Caroline rarely left the house, and Meg was generally left to fend for herself. Raoul had tried to give them some financial help and had used his connections to make sure there was a security presence near their tiny home.

"Ah!" She let out a high-pitched shriek as one of the tentacle-wielding bad guys popped out from a sewer. Meg buried her face in his t-shirt.

Raoul chuckled. "It's going to get you…." He made his hand into a spider and quickly crawled it up her back.

"No! Stop it!" She continued to laugh as she leaned back and fought off the spider. Their eyes met when she glanced up, and his hand limply dropped to his side. Raoul swallowed. He didn't really have a single thought in his mind as they both leaned in and softly kissed. It lasted several seconds, her hand resting on his knee. Meg's face turned red as she drew back. "I'm so..."

"It's-"

Suddenly, a commercial interrupted them. _"I'm Christine Daae. And I'm here to talk to you about the Community. To set some facts straight. To give you __hope.__"_ A chorus sang softly in the background.

Turning toward the screen, Raoul's mouth fell open. His hands clenched, and his face grew warm with anger as he watched the entire piece. "What the hell?!" he asked when it was over, jumping up from the couch. "What the hell was that?"

Meg glanced at the floor. "You know she's a part of it."

"But that was complete propaganda! It's sick. It's so messed up. How could she be a part of that? How could she do that?" He rubbed both hands over his face. "They have completely messed up her mind."

"Raoul," Meg murmured. "All she does is upset you. I wish you'd let her go. I know you were friends with her growing up, but she's…really far gone now. I'm sorry."

Raoul grimaced. "I know." His right hand curled into a fighting fist. "I just want that final shot. To prove to her that this is all a giant hoax. That's all I want. One last stand."

Meg shrugged and hopped up. "Well, maybe you'll get it soon. Maybe the Spirit will make another appearance. I hope so. For your sake." She took several quick steps toward the door. "I'm getting tired. I think I'll catch the bus home. Tell your mom thanks for dinner again. It was really great."

Raoul felt a tug of guilt. He wasn't exactly sure what all this was, but he hadn't meant to hurt her. It all…got confusing really fast. "You're welcome to stay," he said, gesturing to the couch. "We don't have to talk about that anymore. I'm sorry. That commercial just …shocked me, you know?"

"No. It's fine. It was nothing. I really am tired. I'll see you later, okay?"

"All right. Please call me if you need anything."

Alone now, Raoul slowly sunk onto the couch, wishing for nothing more than a slice of clarity.

* * *

It was days later when Erik gave her what she initially thought was good news. She'd already begun two knitting projects, a scarlet blanket and a black scarf. At first she'd wondered if Erik would be annoyed that her materials were spread out all across his living room. But he hadn't said a word. Again, maybe she made herself too comfortable. It was so easy to do down there in Erik's strange little world….

"As you requested, you will be permitted a visit with Mrs. Valerius," he stated one morning.

She glanced up from her knitting in delighted surprise. "Thank you! That means a lot to me."

"It will be at the house of another person within the Community. Cameron is still very cautious about leaving you alone with anyone. You know too much."

She frowned, puzzled. "He left me alone with his granddaughter." Erik only stared. She shrugged and said, "All right. I understand."

"You will join her at the Robinsons' house."

"Oh, I know them. Mrs. Robinson does beautiful dressing-making, usually for…." Christine felt her stomach drop.

"Yes. So you also will be able to begin designing your elegant dress. You were worried about it. I did not want you to be."

She nodded, carefully showing no outward reaction to the news. At least she would still get to see her friend, even if she could no longer deny the inevitable path her life was going to take.

Mrs. Valerius was waiting outside the home for her when she arrived, and they tightly hugged, displaying more emotion than was usually considered appropriate. Christine was far past caring, though.

"I was so worried about you!" exclaimed Mrs. Valerius, wiping a teary eye. "But then I was reassured that the Spirit was protecting you. They promised me you were okay, and I heard that you sang. So…I didn't worry as much." She paused. "Are you…okay?"

Christine nodded and answered with a half-truth, "Yes. I'm fine."

"You look good. A little pale but healthy. And you're engaged! That's wonderful. I'm sure he's a good man. Cameron wouldn't allow the marriage to take place otherwise, so he must be a very godly man."

She didn't even know what to say, so she changed the subject. "How have you been feeling?"

"Just fine! A little lonely without you around, but my health has been good."

Mrs. Robinson soon greeted them with a smile, her blonde and grey hair folded into a bun that revealed her high cheekbones. It was rumored that she had once been an actress in movies but had given it all up because Hollywood was full of sin. "I have several photographs of popular designs," she said, ushering them to her sofa. "Why don't you look over them and see what you like? Then I'll take your measurements, and we can talk about all the little details." She left them there and headed into her kitchen. The fresh scent of baked bread wafted outward.

"He'll be the luckiest man in the world," said Mrs. Valerius, fondly looking over the pictures. Christine noticed that the young women in them weren't really smiling. They looked…resigned. She sighed. "Which one do you like?"

"I don't know," Christine whispered, touching the album. "That one is nice." It was a little more ornate than the others, the sleeves were puffier and the lacy skirt flowed outwards in all directions.

"That is beautiful." They flipped through a few more photographs. Mrs. Valerius glanced at her and then, in nearly a whisper, said, "They won't tell me about your husband. I promised I wouldn't ask you. So I won't. But…please let me know if you have any questions about what will be expected of you as a wife." Christine shifted uncomfortably and nodded, keeping her eyes on the album. "I know the past shouldn't be discussed here, but… I turned your age around 1990. And I spent several years after college doing what a lot of women did at that time. You know, you would…have relationships, if you could call them that, with a lot of different men. I had my heart broken more than a few times. The Community's arrangement is better."

Christine furrowed her brow. "I'm so sorry you were hurt. But at least you had choices, even if you didn't always make the right one…."

"That's the thing, Christine. Women are very emotional beings. We _never_ make good decisions about men. I was lucky with my last husband. And then even more fortunate to find the Community. You're lucky to be here as well…to have a husband picked out for you by Cameron himself."

"I think I'm smart enough to make my own decisions," she nearly snapped.

Mrs. Valerius glanced down. "I…I'm sorry. This was supposed to be a happy occasion. I didn't mean to make you upset."

"No, I'm sorry," Christine murmured, turning red and looking away. "You don't know…."

"Don't know what?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Here. Everything is great." She flipped back to the previous dress. "I want this basic design. Let's call Mrs. Robinson back here."

No, these people couldn't be her friends. She was now closer to Erik in her thoughts than to any of them. He was right; she knew too much now. After letting Mrs. Robinson decide most of the details, such as flowers and her style of veil, and take her measurements, Christine quickly got up to meet the car outside. As Mrs. Valerius hugged her one last time, she asked, "Are you sure everything is okay, Christine? If something's wrong, I could always try to speak with Cameron. I know he cares about your best interests."

"I'm sure he does," Christine replied with a touch of sarcasm. But she knew nothing good would come of getting this poor woman involved in the potentially dangerous situation. "Everything is fine. I promise. I'll keep in touch with you."

"Make sure you do."

With one last sad smile, Christine climbed into the car that took her to Cameron's compound. She met Erik in the darkened garage soon afterwards. While she was designing her wedding dress, he'd had business with Cameron. She vaguely wondered what they'd talked about. "Did you enjoy yourself?" he asked as they were driven home.

"It was nice. I found what I wanted." She turned to stare out the window, feeling a little exhausted.

"Cameron has another request of you," he softly continued. "Within the week, you will attend two dinners with him and…several other men. You will not need to say much. Simply be pleasant. They are men who…." Erik hesitated. "Must be thoroughly persuaded that Cameron's way is correct."

She grimaced at the thought. "I'm not very good at persuading. Especially because I don't believe in most of what he says."

"You don't have to believe in it. You believe in helping people, as you said."

"So why can't I do that? Why can't I help make food for people or teach them?"

He sighed with agitation. "If you do this, maybe Cameron will allow your other requests."

"Fine," she murmured, tired of arguing. Maybe a part of her also wanted to see what this was all about, to find more answers. "I'll do it."

She wore a formfitting black skirt that fell to her ankles and white blouse, one of the few outfits that would have been appropriate both in the Community and outside of it. "Cameron knows he has to convince them that he is not an insane extremist," Erik explained after he told her what she would be wearing. "It is a delicate situation."

"Why doesn't he tell them exactly who he is? What does he have to hide?"

Erik chuckled. "It's all somewhat of a game. Even if our intentions are noble, we still must play. Deals have to be made if we are to get anywhere. If we are both to help everyone, right?"

It was nearly a five hour drive to their destination in another state, winding roads through small abandoned towns. Most places were eerily quiet with few signs of life, winding weeds beginning to overtake many of the houses and buildings. In the city, there was activity again. People walked around with bags and carts, warily eyeing their surroundings. Most had holes in their faded clothing and didn't seem especially well-fed. Their faces were haggard. Loose dogs and cats roamed the streets, and she was briefly reminded of her lost black kitten.

Erik must have seen her forlorn expression and took it to be nervousness. "You will do fine," he assured her as she prepared to leave the car and join Cameron. "Remember, you are nothing but an actress."

Days earlier, Erik had informed her that he would accompany on the drive but had no business being at a dinner meeting. She had started to ask why but, one glance at his mask and a memory of what was underneath, gave her enough of an answer. Erik preferred to avoid people.

Bodyguards were positioned outside the brick building. They were the only group of individuals in the restaurant, a dimly lit and clean establishment with white tablecloths and wine glasses. The walls, floors, and ceilings were made of a dark wood. One of the men at the table was younger and slender with a head full of light brown hair. He stared at her curiously. The other was older, bald and slightly heavyset with a grey moustache. He glanced at her with a bored expression. The men all shook hands. Cameron spoke and gestured to the younger man, "Christine, this is Representative Willmott." He pointed to the older one. "And this is Senator Chesser."

"Nice to meet you," she murmured, shaking their hands. Their grips were strong and warm.

"You have a great voice," said Mr. Willmott. "It reminds me of an angel singing."

"Thank you."

"What do you think of the restaurant?" he asked with a strange smile. "It's been in my family for years."

"Um. It's very nice. Very fancy," she awkwardly replied.

"You know what would make it better?"

"What?"

"Customers!" he exclaimed. "You're the first I've had in weeks." All three men laughed. She uncomfortably smiled. While Christine merely sat with her hands folded in her lap, they talked about the weather for a while and then commiserated over the state of the country. A young man who looked like he'd been plucked right off the street served them water and a basket of bread. Cameron slowly began to remind the other two of how successful his community was becoming, how prosperous it was and how many people were now joining.

"Mr. Lourdes," began the Senator, rubbing his moustache. "I admit that things can't stand as they are. It's a mess out there, and, until the violence cooled down, I was ready to hop on a private plane and go on a one-way trip. This country needs a giant do over. As a Godly man, I _like_ what you stand for. I support it. But…some of your ideas seem too extreme to take hold in certain areas. Some of my constituents and advisors think you're…well…a little unbalanced. Especially when it comes to your…education system…stance on women." He side-glanced Christine. "How do you plan to get around that?"

"That is an excellent question," Cameron replied.

"I'm hesitant to endorse something that's doomed to fail."

"Completely understandable. So am I. Before God spoke to me, I was a businessman, you know?" Cameron paused. "But have you seen how my support has grown just within the last month? It's skyrocketed. Of course not _everyone_ will agree. When have all the voters ever agreed on anything? Some people always lose, and some always win. With your support, I will win. And, starting with my state and your states, I will begin to reform this country."

The Representative looked at her. "What do you think, Ms. Daae?"

She faked a smile and frantically thought. "Well…. God is on our side, right?" They all nodded. "So…what are we afraid of?" As soon as the words left her lips, Christine suddenly hated herself.

Cameron grinned and continued to speak to the two men, leaning forward with his hands folded together. "Exactly. You have nothing to be afraid of. If I fail, then I'll go the way of all third parties. No big deal. My intentions are pure and noble. We don't have one scandal to our name. We have nothing but hope on our side."

Mr. Chesser nodded. "You are the purest party around now. The administration is a helpless wreck. Half of Congress is corrupt and just trying to get their families out of here alive. Most incumbents will probably be voted out this year, if anyone bothers to vote at all."

"So it is our turn to be voted in," said Cameron. "It is finally time for the righteous to be in control. And I can guarantee that, by the end of October, our support will be ten times greater than it is now. If you don't support me, someone will."

Mr. Willmott squinted. "How can you guarantee _that_?"

"God told me so," Cameron replied with all the confidence in the world. Both men stared at him with their heads tilted, curiosity and disbelief battling in their eyes.

The Senator finally looked at Christine. "Your face shines so brightly when you sing. It does give me hope."

"It can all be good again," said Cameron. "With your support."

She felt sick as they left an hour later with both men's endorsements secured. Two days later, she had another dinner with a similar group of individuals, all men. They seemed less concerned with the good of society and more with their reelection. Cameron assured them that he'd throw total support behind them if they endorsed his ideas. Then they went into a sitting room for an hour while she sat on a wooden bench outside and wrung her hands; Cameron told her to be patient while they discussed "gentleman's business." Her stomach continued to turn. _So these were the games that were played…._

Erik was very busy that week as well; he now trusted Christine enough to leave her in the underground home by herself during the daytime. Still, he would always make time for their voice lessons. "I would like to spend every hour of the day with you," he said, eyes full of regret before he left on one of his mysterious trips. "One day I will be able to do so. But these times are complex. Yet necessary for me to finally give you all you deserve."

_What exactly did she deserve? _

Before she knew it, July had arrived. The air was hot, sticky, and uncomfortable, and Christine was grateful for the shorter skirts and light tops that Erik had included in her wardrobe. Unfortunately, she couldn't wear them into the Community. She was briefly needed at the Robinsons' home for another measurement and to choose shoes and a few other minor accessories.

While she was there, Mrs. Robinson also placed a long veil on her head and smoothed it over her shoulders, clasping her hands together in delight. "When the dress is finished, I'll have to take a photo of you for my album!" she exclaimed. "You're perfect. Your husband and the Lord will be so pleased!" The girl in the mirror appeared extremely lost under the white material; she nearly didn't recognize herself.

Christine swallowed back the panic in her throat. _Only two months left..._

"Cameron has two more dinner meetings lined up," Erik began after she joined him in the car within the garage of the compound. The driver hadn't arrived yet.

Maybe the hot weather killed her patience. Or maybe the veil pushed her over the edge. Or maybe she finally just wanted to have some control of her life again. She gritted her teeth. "I don't want to do this for Cameron anymore. I'll care for children. I'll distribute food or clothes or …help people in any way I can. But I am not going to lie to these…these high-powered people who treat me like I'm five."

"Cameron thinks you are very good at it."

"But I don't even do anything! I sit there."

"I am sure you do more than that, my beauty."

"Well, I don't like doing it. It makes me nervous and uncomfortable. I hate it." She folded her arms in defiance but secretly prayed he wouldn't become too angry. So far, the terrifying rages only seemed to occur when his face was involved. Otherwise, Erik was calm.

He softly asked, "Will you still sing?"

"Yes," she replied, looking him in the eye. "I'll do that. As long as I don't have to give any speeches."

"There is a very big event coming toward the end of August. An enormous assembly for all Community members. Right before our wedding. And before what is predicted to be a very tumultuous autumn."

"Will you be…doing magic?"

"Yes."

She sighed in disappointment. "I'll sing. But that's all I want to do."

The driver opened his door at that moment. Glancing up, Erik leaned in and told him there would be a slight delay. He then turned back to her. "I had best resolve this right now. Wait here." Within a second, Erik was out of the car, disappearing into the darkness like a ghost. She nervously waited for his return. Surely Cameron couldn't…_do_ anything to Erik, right? It was surprising how much the thought upset her.

He returned about ten minutes later, completely unharmed and composed.

"What did he say?" she asked.

Erik shrugged. "He is not happy. But…you will not have to go to the meetings any longer."

"Did you get into trouble?"

Erik laughed. "Trouble?" He lowered his voice. "My dear, I cannot get into _trouble._ Mr. Lourdes either has my services or he does not. And, trust me, he cannot function without the Spirit. You will sing, and that is enough."

"Thank you, Erik." He cared about what she wanted at some level. He cared more about her than he did about appeasing Cameron. That meant something, didn't it? "Will I be able to do other things to help?"

"Maybe later. I didn't press the issue for now."

She didn't press either. They drove down the normal route as the sun set. Christine felt drowsy and somewhat calmer now that she'd been relieved of that hellish duty. As they neared their destination, Erik spoke, a hesitance in his voice. "It is growing dark. As always, you may refuse the request. But, I was wondering if you would take a walk with me? Our time together has been so limited lately…."

Surprised, she glanced up. "Yes, that…sounds nice."

He leaned in and gave directions to the driver. "It used to be a public park and trail," said Erik, turning back to her when they arrived. "The area is a bit overgrown now, but, if you watch your step, you will be fine. And I will guide you."

She walked beside him through the tall grass, enjoying the fresh air and leafy scents of nature. Nighttime and a gentle breeze cooled the air, and she lifted her head so that the wind would brush against her warm cheeks. Erik's hands were behind his back and his head was tilted downward, as though he were lost in thought. Apparently, he was still very aware of their surroundings, though, because he suddenly grabbed the top of her arm. "Do not walk into a hole, my beauty. You will break your ankle."

She looked down and laughed nervously, quickly stepping to the side. "Thanks. That wouldn't have been fun. I can barely see…."

He slowly released her, his hand dropping and brushing against her arm and wrist as it fell. A light tingle trailed down her skin with it, and her heart beat quickly. After a moment's hesitation, she took his gloved hand, continuing to stare forward as they walked. Christine was slightly jolted as he paused in his steps and glanced down. A shaky sigh blended in with the breeze, swirling around her. They continued forward, walking so long that her feet and legs began to ache. She glanced up and saw so much happiness in those yellow eyes that she knew Erik would allow the walk to last forever if he could.

Maybe they should keep walking and walking. Away from all of this. Away from Cameron and the Community and the horrors of the rest of the country-until they reached the ocean. But then what? Sail away to an island?

She squeezed his hand lightly and said, "I guess it's time to turn around."

"Yes. I suppose so."

When they returned to the car, and to a driver who looked very irritated yet didn't say a word, Erik still seemed reluctant to release her.

"We'll go on more walks," she said.

"Yes. We will. Often." Finally, he let go. Of her hand, at least.

He would never let go of her.

And Christine didn't know if or when she would try to run away. She'd have to be very desperate- to risk her freedom and maybe her life—to leave this peace and security for a dangerous and unforgiving world.

She almost wanted to completely let her guard down. She would sing and read her books and knit and listen to Erik play the piano. According to him, when they were married, nothing would change. He would ask nothing more of her, he assured-never again reveal his terrible face or demand anything repugnant. She would simply be married and do the same things she did now. And that would be her entire life. Ignorant and content in Erik's little home.

But her mind warned her that she needed the truth. And her heart reminded her that such a marriage would always leave her wanting.

So she couldn't just give in. Not yet.

Still, she couldn't run. Not yet.

And so she was left floating in limbo-waiting for that magical, terrible moment that would decide everything.


	16. Chapter 16

One more flashback after this long chapter. Thank you for all the feedback.

**Read and Review!**

_**2018**_

_"Killed…someone." _

"_What?"_ A thousand questions swirled through Farrokh's mind with those two words. "Was it an accident?"

"Not exactly. But it was not…premeditated, as they call it."

"What-?" Despite his racing heart, he was a man of patience and knew this wasn't the type of conversation to continue over the phone. "Where are you? I'm in California right now. It will take me a day or two to get up there."

"I am in hiding. I will not say where. But I will call you again in thirty-six hours."

"I will try to be there by then."

He packed lightly and bought a high-priced plane ticket at the last minute, feeling as though an ulcer were forming in the pit of his stomach. Guilt plagued him. _Did my leaving send him off the edge? Could I have stopped this?_ _Erik, what the hell have you done?_

"Where are you going now?" Zari asked when he called her. "You just got here."

"Some unfinished business with work. Final experiments to help someone with their thesis. I shouldn't be too long."

She sighed. "All right. But don't work yourself to death."

"I won't. I'll be back before you know it."

His daughter must have heard something wrong in his voice. "Is everything really okay?"

"Just business, sweetheart. I'll be back soon. I promise." He hung up, suddenly resenting Erik for forcing him to lie to what little family he had left.

Erik called at the very minute he said he would. Farrokh had just settled into a three-star hotel room and hung up his dress shirts. At least the flight had been peaceful now that holiday travel had died down, and he'd had an entire row to himself. Still, once he'd stepped out into the cold wind, Farrokh had nearly turned back around. It was as though two invisible hands had pressed against his back and pushed him forward, forcing him down a predestined path.

"Where are you?" Farrokh asked, turning up the heat in his room and staring out the window. _Charming view of the highway. _

"I told you," Erik nearly snapped. "I will not give you that information over the phone."

For once, Farrokh took a firm hand. He was no longer dealing with an innocent boy. "I am here to help you. I can just as easily leave. You will be respectful."

A pause. "Do you know where Lena is buried?"

"Your father mentioned it once."

"That idiot is no longer my father. But I will meet you there. Make sure you are not followed."

Farrokh shook his head as he climbed into his rented black Toyota. _I cannot believe I am meeting someone at a cemetery. _He continuously glanced at the rearview mirror, but there were few other cars on the road. The sky was partly cloudy, and the air was crisp, bare branches rocking back and forth in the breeze. After parking to the side of the road, Farrokh stepped out of his car, shielded his eyes and glanced around. The brown grass crunched beneath his feet.

Within a minute, Erik came out from behind a metal shed that was likely used to store equipment for the maintenance of the graveyard. He wore a black turtleneck, loose pants, and gloves. A black scarf was wrapped around the lower half of his masked face. His eyes were different, alarmed…aware.

Farrokh shivered and nodded at him. "Can we speak in my car?"

"Yes."

They climbed inside, and Farrokh turned up the heater. With a deep breath, he put both hands on the steering wheel and stared forward. "Before I help you with _anything_, you will tell me exactly what happened. The truth with no omissions."

"It's a very strange story." Erik stared straight forward as well.

"If you…if someone is dead, then it must be very strange. What happened?"

"After you left, that fool began to see this woman. She was very stupid, Farrokh. Completely vapid. And she talked to my father as though I could not hear. 'Have you thought of putting him in an institution? He can't be normal, being up in his room all the time. He doesn't talk very much, does he? What's wrong with him?'" Erik's voice became high-pitched as he mocked her, growing angrier with each word. "I hated her."

Farrokh felt the color drain from his face. "Did you…?"

Erik turned and stared at him. Then, he softly laughed. "Your opinion of me is that horrible? You think I killed that stupid woman just because she was a screeching idiot?" He sighed. "No, Farrokh. That is not it at all."

"I'm sorry. You said you killed someone. So…."

"I suppose I should work on my story introductions? Anyhow, to get away from both of them, I began to leave after dark. I would go to restaurants, theaters…bars, if I could go in undetected. I usually could. Then I would simply…_watch_ people. I would watch them talk and interact. I did it because…." He seemed to struggle with the explanation.

"You wanted to understand people a little better?"

"I don't know." Erik glanced down as though ashamed. "At one of the establishments, a sort of bar and restaurant combined, there were these three…people who would sit on the patio and listen to the live music every Saturday night. It wasn't good music, usually an amateur guitarist or some nonsense. But they still came to listen-two males and a female, always at the same table. I began to go every Saturday to watch them. The bigger and…better looking male was loud and irritating, but he also seemed to not want to be seen. He was not ugly like me, so I did not understand why he wanted to keep his face hidden. Now I do, Farrokh."

"Why?" Farrokh softly asked, having no idea as to where this might go.

"I will get there soon." Erik folded his arms across his chest as though shielding himself from something. "One night, the girl saw me. I had been less cautious, I suppose. She said, 'Hey, kid. Stop being creepy over there. Come out and say something.' I should have run away then. I should have never come back. But she…she was kind of erm… lovely. Unusual…but lovely." He awkwardly mumbled the last sentences.

Farrokh gently smiled despite the circumstances, realizing that Erik had probably experienced a first taste of attraction. "I see."

"She had long, black hair and very symmetrical bangs. All of her was very symmetrical. Large black eyes. And a very perfect little nose. Except she had put a white diamond in it. I wondered, why would someone fortunate enough to have a nose put a hole in it? Still, she was…I…I wanted to see her."

"That's understandable," Farrokh assured him.

"Her name was Liz; she was eighteen. The louder, older idiot was Tyler. And he was…involved with her. Marvin was smaller, pale and quieter. I sat nearer to them, ready to run at any moment should they begin asking questions. But they did not say a word about my mask. She only said, 'Do you know how many days I'd have to go without eating to get as skinny as you?' I told her it would probably take about seventeen to nineteen days depending on her energy expenditure." Erik paused. "Then they laughed, but it was not mean laughter. And then they let me stay."

Farrokh nodded. "I told you. People are more accepting with age."

"They were, initially. I began to meet with them at the same place. They didn't ask questions. Not many. They simply talked about various things, sometimes music or places they wanted to go. Liz always said things that made everyone laugh. Tyler talked often too; he was obnoxious and not very kind to her. But it was all fine…until…." Erik paused and stared into the distance.

"Until what?" Farrokh gently prodded.

"Marvin invited me over to his apartment with the rest of them. I think they only associated with him because he had an impressive electronics system. His home was practically a theater. Again, I should have _refused_. I am not made to interact with people. Bu _she_ was going to be there. So I went."

"And what happened there?"

"We only talked. And then we…relaxed. And sometimes, when we did so, the entire world would change. I would think of things I'd never thought of before. And the colors were more vibrant. And sometimes the music…I could nearly see it and smell it…. It was all very odd. But rather beautiful."

Farrokh raised an eyebrow. "Erik, did you take drugs?"

"Oh, do not be irritating, Farrokh. I finally was not tense and angry out of my mind. I had friends. You cannot even imagine what it was like. You must understand this."

"I'm sorry. Go on. Please."

"Tyler also introduced me to people who would give me money if I did simple things for them. Marvin refused, and Tyler called him a…p-well, a coward in so many words. But I am not that term, Farrokh. So I did it. I delivered their stupid packages. And then I did not have to depend upon my idiot father for money any longer. "

"You were doing something illegal. Probably transporting drugs." He now wondered if Erik had killed someone in some sort of deal gone bad. It happened often enough.

"I know. But what else would I do? You really think they would hire me anywhere? I am not sure I have the face that corporate America wants representing them. "

Farrokh slapped his hand to his forehead. "Why didn't you stick with your studies? You could have gotten away from your father and these idiots!"

"Because it was the only time I was happy! She smiled at me. Do you know what it's like to have a female smile at you?" Erik waved his hand dismissively. "Of course _you_ do. So you would not understand! You would not understand what it was finally like to feel something so good…." He sighed sadly.

Farrokh felt his heart break. He was running out of words and advice. "You know I just wanted something better for you."

Erik shrugged. "I would secretly buy her things with my new money, little candy or jewelry items. She would laugh when I did so; I don't understand why. But she never told Tyler. That was how it was for several weeks. And then, one night, Marvin and Tyler left to buy beer. I hate the taste of that beverage, but they enjoyed it. So it was…only me and her. That is the first time it was only me and her."

"But she was still involved with Tyler?"

"He was not nice to her. He called her stupid often. I did not think he deserved her."

"I see." Farrokh shifted. The dark cloud of this story was slowly becoming visible on the horizon.

"We had taken something to make the evening more amusing." Farrokh rolled his eyes, but Erik didn't notice. "She sat very close to me and told me she was bored with her life. Bored with Tyler and going out to the same places every night. She wanted the whole world, she said, to see it and experience it. And I told her I would give it to her. And then she told me that…_I_ wasn't boring. She said I was the strangest looking person she'd ever seen. But that was okay. And then…." Erik suddenly choked and turned toward the passenger window.

"What happened?" He put a hand on Erik's bony shoulder; he didn't pull away.

"She wanted to see my face. She said that if I took my mask off, she would take…_everything_ off in return. It'd be a fun secret, she said. I told her 'no' at first, but she kept asking. She removed her red dress. And I suddenly wanted to see the rest of her. I wanted to see her so badly. Because she was so pretty. All of her had to be just as beautiful."

"Oh, God," Farrokh whispered.

"My mind became…very jumbled. The walls were literally moving, Farrokh. So I did as she asked. I did it." He leaned forward and buried his masked face in his hands. "And then I just wanted her to stop screaming. It wouldn't stop, Farrokh! I screamed back and shook her by the shoulders, trying to get her to stop. But she would not stop…."

"I am so sorry."

"Marvin came in first. He started yelling as well. She was wearing very little, so I am sure it did not look right. But I _never_ would have, well…. And then Tyler ran in. And he had a very large knife. And he was red-faced and screaming." Erik paused. "It is hard for me to remember all that happened next. But, when I regained my senses, she was lying on the bed sobbing hysterically. Marvin was holding the sides of his head whispering obscenities. And Tyler-his head was only…half-attached to his body. And my hands and clothes were red and sticky. I ran, Farrokh. I ran and hid and have stayed hidden since."

Farrokh released the breath that he'd been holding. "Oh my God. That is…." He paused and gave himself a moment to take it all in. "But it may have been self-defense, then? If he had the knife first?"

Erik stared down. "You know why Tyler did not want people to see him?"

"Why?"

"He was the lieutenant governor's son. In the daytime, he was a golden boy. In the nighttime, he was himself."

"Oh." Farrokh closed his eyes. He vaguely remembered a news story stating that some important person's child was found dead under suspect circumstances. He instantly knew Erik would have no chance in court. The state government was already known to be somewhat corrupt. "Why didn't you just concentrate on your studies, Erik?" he nearly moaned.

Erik shook his head. "Can you imagine what they will do to me in prison?"

"Yes," Farrokh whispered. "But what do you want from me?"

"To get me out of this awful place. Surely you know how."

"I know ways," he whispered. "To get you documents. Did those…kids know your last name?"

"No. I did not ever tell her. Even when we were at our happiest."

"If you think I will save you from this mess so that you can become a street corner junky, you are very mistaken."

"No," Erik murmured. "I will never touch those substances again. I want to be right of mind even if I am miserable. I want control. I _need _control. It is all I will ever have in a world that despises me. Control and intelligence." He paused. "I hate them all. You are the exception, if you help me."

"You even hate her?" Farrokh softly asked, trying to make sure the boy's humanity wasn't completely buried.

Erik traced a finger against the window glass. "I want to forget _her_. I want to forget females altogether. They will never be able to stand the sight of me. _Ever._ Women and drugs destroy my control. And I will never allow it to happen again." He turned to Farrokh. "Please get me out of this horrid country. I will disappear, and then you can forget me. You can pretend I never existed."

Farrokh silently stared forward for a long time before sighing in resignation. "I want you to promise me you will do something with your life. Promise me I won't regret this. That is what I want to hear."

Without a pause, Erik replied, "I promise."

* * *

_**2038**_

As the Spirit stared down at him, cold and calm, Cameron felt a wave of anger heat his skin. Still, he kept his voice steady when he asked, "Why doesn't she want to do this for me? Doesn't she realize how much privilege she has? Does she want it all to go away?"

"Christine is simply shy." Erik's tone turned condescending. "Don't you teach your women to be meek, Mr. Lourdes?"

"_And_ obedient," Cameron snapped back.

"She is a good girl. She simply does not enjoy political games. And why would she? It is a grey business, and Christine is all color. Let her sing. That is what she does best."

Cameron grunted and turned away. "Don't you remember what happened with Abby's mother? She was a defense attorney. Do you remember the Potts murders of 2025?"

"Vaguely," Erik replied with disinterest. "I was in a different country at that time. Some billionaire hacked up his wife and daughter, no?"

"Yes. Well, she was the one who got him off. All because of some technicality about police proceedings while gathering evidence."

"It happens often."

"That disgusting woman destroyed the life of my son. She gave him no attention, practically ignored little Abby when she was born, despite all the money she put into getting the unnatural 'perfect' child. She did as she wanted, slept with whomever she wanted. She was a whore. And my son was a coward for not making her obey. It is just one example of what happens when you do not keep a handle on your wife."

Erik chuckled coldly. "I highly doubt that Christine is planning to become a defense attorney. If she does aspire to do so, I will attempt to dissuade her."

Cameron pounded a fist on his desk. "You need to take this seriously, Erik! That girl is the most prominent woman in our community. She is a symbol. If she appears disobedient, then what will that do to the rest of my structure?"

"Calm yourself, Mr. Lourdes. She will still sing. She will still be the face and voice at the biggest ceremony of all. But, frankly, I cannot blame her for not wanting to sit at your dull meetings."

"The other men like having her there…."

An eerie glow came into the Spirit's eyes, and he walked a little too close for Cameron's comfort. "Then perhaps I do not want her there at all," he whispered. "If my future wife is nothing but a face for other men to lust over. How does that fit into your values, Mr. Lourdes?"

"How does your bombing cities fit into my values?" Cameron growled, a slight tremble in his voice. "We do what we must for the ultimate greater good. No one will ever touch your wife, Erik. But she is still helpful."

"She will _not_ continue the meetings."

"Fine. I don't need her that desperately anyways."

"I'm glad we've finally reached a pleasant understanding."

Erik turned around to leave, but Cameron wasn't finished yet. "Watch it, Erik. That girl will destroy everything if you don't control her. Trust me. I've seen it again and again and again."

All he received was one last glare, and then Erik disappeared through the door. Cameron sighed in exasperation and sat down at his desk, once again feeling more out of control that he preferred. The clock was ticking down, though, and the final acts of the show were about to take place. He would need the Spirit more than ever over these next few months. He needed Erik a thousand times more than he needed Christine.

Because if Erik failed, then _everything _failed.

* * *

Her dress was nearly finished by the end of July. Because no one would be attending her wedding, Mrs. Robinson and Mrs. Valerius planned a small party for her, inviting about a dozen other women of the community. Most of them had lived there for at least as long as Christine had; the newer members were generally kept at a distance until trust could be established. There was a hierarchy.

Muffins, coffee cakes, pies, and other treats were sitting in decorative glass containers on a long table that was situated on the front lawn. White plastic chairs were placed in a circle to allow for discussion, and a tent had been set up in case anyone needed to escape the hot rays of the sun. The garden was especially well-maintained with roses, violets, and sunflowers all brightly blooming. Butterflies and hummingbirds drank the nectar.

It would be the most important day of her life, they told her, all of them wearing their nicest dresses. She would be a woman now. But Christine didn't feel like a woman. She didn't really feel like a child either—more like an autumn leaf that had fallen from its branch and was now floating aimlessly through space.

She sat in the middle of the circle with her hands folded, smiling and nodding as they gave her bits of advice. _Don't ask too many questions of him. Don't argue. Smile and be cheerful. Make sure everything is always kept clean. Make sure dinner is ready at a sensible hour. _

"I hope you have many children," said one woman with a big smile.

The thought of having kids in all of this seemed so far off that it nearly made her laugh. She couldn't even think of the concept in a logical way.

After all the other guests were gone, Christine tried on the dress in Mrs. Robinson's home. It fit her perfectly, lightly clinging to her hips and waist then falling out in an enormous white cascade over her legs. The color made her appear even paler. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her blue eyes stared back at her with uncertainty. She was going to be a wife in nearly one month. _His wife._

Erik continued to take her on walks several nights a week, and she would always hold his hand, needing to make some type of connection with her future husband. The two of them would talk about things that weren't upsetting such as music or history. Sometimes he would softly hum, and the sound was beautiful enough to make her forget the rest of the world. His thumb would caress the back of her hand, and she often felt…nearly happy in those odd moments. And she dared to wonder if her fate would not be so terrible.

The night after her small party, as they walked through the middle of the pine woods, Erik seemed slightly agitated. His steps were faster than normal, and his fingers twitched beneath her hand. "We must discuss something," he finally began. "I have business away for two nights."

"Will I go with you?" she asked, glancing up. She was always eager to see more of the country.

"No. It is nowhere you could travel."

"Will I stay in the Community then?"

"I had considered that. Cameron does not want you among the others for so long. It is a consequence of your refusal, I'm afraid. And I don't know that I'd want you near him for so long…."

She frowned. "You're not going make me stay down in your home by myself for all that time…right?"

"I do not know if there is any choice."

"But I'll go crazy." The thought was already making her agitated and claustrophobic. "Couldn't you at least teach me how to go to the surface? Just for fresh air?"

"It is not always safe. There are animals out there."

"_Squirrels?" _She sighed. "You don't trust me, do you? I won't run, Erik. Are you going to monitor my every movement forever? Am I going to stay down there every time you have to leave?"

"Of course not. Eventually we will move to a home that is more suitable for my wife. It is just a temporary arrangement."

"Please?" she whispered. "Please let me prove to you that you can trust me. I'll only go where it's safe. The theater. I won't run."

He stared at the dirt ground, his grip tightening on her hand. "You do not know what it would do to me to lose you…."

She squeezed his fingers. "I'll be there when you get back. I promise. I just…don't want to completely lose my mind. Please, Erik."

"We will see," were his only soft words. She reluctantly let the issue go for that moment, and they continued their silent walk.

When she arose the next morning, uncertain as to what the day would bring, Erik immediately approached her. He held a strange rectangular black object in his gloved hand. "While there may appear to be only squirrels, there is always the chance…. I do not want you to be completely unarmed if you choose to go up. Push this red button. Right here. And then say: _Fire._ Your opponent, be it an animal or person, will receive quite the…_shock._"

She stared down at it with wide eyes. "Will…will it kill them?"

"Not on the setting that I have programmed for your voice alone. Although if your life were in danger, their possible demise would not be your main concern."

Slowly, she took the device, feeling its coolness in her palm. And then the realization hit her. "You're letting me out?"

"The stairs and closest elevator are all programmed to your voice. I trust you did not want to go to the alleyway alone?"

"No. The theater is fine."

"Good." Erik showed her what she could eat and where all medical necessities were, along with how to gain access to the top by herself. The stairs and nearest elevator would somehow react to her voice; all other exits were locked for her safety. Erik also handed her a small black phone. "Unless you are in danger, it is best if you do not contact me. My circumstances are complicated. If you are in trouble, though, do not hesitate for even a second."

"Will you be in danger?" she softly asked.

"No. It is all just silly business."

"That's…good." She was suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed, a taste of freedom within her grasp.

He touched her hair. "I am sure …I will see you when I return?"

"You don't have to worry." She looked him in the eye. "I'll be here."

"Good. I will see you in two days then." He eyed her one last time and stroked her cheek with his index finger before disappearing to the surface.

And then suddenly there was a quiet stillness that made her stomach turn with anxiety. The home was nearly too silent. Christine waited for an hour and then decided to see if he'd really given her access.

She held her chin high and spoke to the ceiling in the dark, little room. "Open," she said in a loud voice. With a soft click and a bang, the stairs instantly began to descend. Christine slowly climbed them and was faced with the middle elevator. "Open." The doors obeyed, and she stepped inside. When she exited at the top, she headed for the stairs. The birds twittered above her.

For the first time, she was alone. It was almost strange not to feel Erik's constant gaze on her. The air was still, and the late morning sun was bright. Heart beating quickly, she made her way outside the theater building to look at her surroundings. She gazed over what used to be a parking lot but was now covered with high, thick weeds. In the distance, she could see more trees and other rusted rectangular structures. The populated city had to be nearby, but her sense of direction was somewhat disoriented.

Unaware of her own intentions, Christine slowly walked forward and continued to explore her surroundings. She almost expected something like an alarm to sound, alerting the world (and Erik) that she'd gone too far. As she walked by what appeared to be the old dumpster area, her foot landed against something that crackled beneath her step. It was a brochure, and she expected to see another advertisement for a show.

But no. This sky blue and light pink one was different. The folded brochure was dated 2031 and stated in bold blue letters at the top: _Let Hamilton Genetics help you with your most precious gift. _Christine squinted as she picked it up and flipped through the material. The company promised that babies would have no defects, physical or mental, when they were born. She suddenly remembered Erik's words during his tirade. _"They managed to eradicate ugly. For awhile." _

Christine didn't know what to make of it. The sound of nearby male voices startled her, and she ducked behind the nearest tree trunk, suddenly alarmed at how far she'd walked from the theater. She pressed her back against the rough bark, increasingly aware of the weapon in her pocket. She held her breath. Two middle-aged men with long beards and torn jeans and t-shirts were passing and talking, both carrying sacks over their shoulder. She could barely hear their conversation.

"Should we stop here?"

"Nah. There's nothing in there but rubble. Let's get farther in." He groaned. "Haven't had a beer in months. Haven't had a woman in longer. Someone shoot me."

"You're telling me. I heard there might be a camp ten miles out. Maybe we'll find both there."

"There's always some goddamned rumored camp. Always a bunch of BS. There's nothing. We'll be lucky to rob a store out of ten bucks."

She continued to huddle there even after they had passed, releasing a sigh of relief when the men were completely out of sight. And then she quickly made her way back to the theater and down into Erik's home, checking to make sure that all the doors were shut tightly behind her. Christine stayed there the rest of the day, making herself a cold turkey sandwich on white bread and reading over her books. Music was her only company. She didn't venture outside again until early the next morning, hoping no one else would be around at that time. With the birds and the chattering squirrels, she watched the sunrise and took in the fresh air for an hour. Then she went back downstairs.

She knew it before she thought it. She wasn't leaving. She wasn't running away.

But…Christine glanced to the side of the tunnel. There was one curiosity that still bothered her. _What was the third elevator?_ _Maybe she could just…take a quick look._ She hesitantly began to head in the direction opposite the alleyway, fingers curled at her side as her footsteps echoed in her ears. Christine walked for so long that she wondered if Erik had been lying and nearly turned around. But then she saw two doors that only looked a little shinier than the others. After staring at them for several seconds, she shakily commanded, "Open."

Of course, they didn't obey. She pushed the button. A down arrow lit up in yellow, and a robotic female voice said, "Password?"

"Open," Christine repeated with more confidence.

"Voice unrecognized. Please retry."

With a frown, she knew she'd never get in. It wanted Erik's voice and the correct password. With a sigh, Christine started to turn around. But then she heard something, a soft murmur far below her feet. Kneeling down to her knees, she bent at the waist and put her right ear to the floor, hands flat at her sides. Faint voices tickled her auditory canal. There were many of them, and they made no sense….

"Did you hear that Kristen is expecting her seventh…."

"Thank goodness my flowers…."

"Stock prices have fallen down to their lowest levels since…."

"How many eggs do you..."

"I really don't think the President has a prayer at…."

Dozens of voices talking about dozens of different things.

_Were there people down there? No, it didn't sound like that. Or televisions?_

After listening for nearly ten minutes and making no sense of it, Christine finally rose to her feet. Unnerved, she walked back to Erik's home. Pulling the ingredients out of the drawers and cabinets for an apple pie, she continued to think about the voices but could come up with no explanation. She then listened to music while knitting for several hours, the smell of her dessert floating through the rooms. The phrase "idle hands are the devil's playthings" was common in the Community, which explained why she was used to keeping busy. In the middle of her work, Christine glanced up as a passing thought startled her. She missed the sound of the piano.

She missed…_him._

The realization made her so uncomfortable that she soon went to bed, even though it was only seven in the evening.

In the morning, she went outside and enjoyed the sunlight again. As before, she went back down. Christine ended up baking oatmeal raisin cookies and finishing half the blanket before he came home. Erik entered silently, suddenly appearing in the living room and staring down at her with his head tilted.

"Did you have a nice time?" Christine asked after she recovered from her surprise.

He chuckled. "I would have greatly preferred to have been with you, my dear." She gave him a close-lipped smile. "Why are you bright red?"

"I um…missed the sun, I guess…."

"I will provide you with lotion so that you are not miserable." He glanced around. "You have made the house…smell interesting."

"Thanks. Feel free to have anything from the kitchen, if you actually ever eat."

"I eat. I simply spare you the sight."

"You don't have to do that." She wasn't exactly sure how she'd react to his face again, but the thought of him being unable to eat in his own home made her sad.

"Let's not think of it." He paused. "What matters is…that you are here. You are still here."

"I told you I would be."

"Yes. You are a good girl."

"I missed your music," she admitted.

"Did you? Then I will have to play for you."

Erik watched her, and she could instantly sense what he wanted. Too shy to look him in the eye, she put her knitting to the side and stood. Christine held her left hand out to him, and he quickly took it, almost appearing as if she'd relieved him of physical pain. Trembling slightly, she leaned in even more and wrapped her right arm around his bony shoulders in an awkward hug. He was so thin that her arm embraced only fabric. Erik froze. His cheek tilted down against her hair. A tense breath left his body.

"Oh…." he softly sighed. "You feel like heaven, you know? You are so soft and good…." A warm sensation began to form in her stomach as Christine held him. But she was forced to release Erik as he seemed to slide down against her to his knees, his hands coming to rest at her waist. "You are an angel," he whispered, staring up at her with bright eyes. "One month. One month and we will have forever. You will be so dearly worshipped. And I will give you the whole world. I swear I will."

"Erik, please stand up." She didn't like _this_. She didn't want to be worshiped. And she didn't want the world. She just wanted…something warm and honest and _right_. "Please stand."

He slowly did so, trailing his hands over her hips and then slowly stepping back. "I will play for you now," he whispered.

"I'd really like that." She turned to go back to the couch and then remembered something. "I didn't…use this," she murmured, pulling the device from her pocket. Christine held it out to him.

"Keep it, my dear. My wife should not be completely unarmed in this sort of world."

Christine nodded, unsure if she really wanted to keep it. As she settled back onto the sofa, she briefly remembered the voices and wondered if she'd ever be able to ask about them. But if Erik knew she went in that direction, it might make him angry. And she wasn't about to shatter the fragile trust for a third time. And maybe the sound had really come from high above. Or what if it had been her imagination? She had managed to believe in a magical Spirit, after all….

She forgot about it as the beautiful legato music from the piano soared throughout the room, wrapping her in a soft and comfortable cocoon.


	17. Chapter 17

_**Here we go….Feedback is always appreciated. **_

_**2018**_

Farrokh had always lived within the law, but that didn't mean he hadn't occasionally operated within the fuzzy grey area—the same area where the government often functioned. He was from a country that didn't have the most amiable relationship with the United States. He had also worked on grants sponsored by the Department of Defense and been involved with laser technology that was now used to create weapons. And, in the 1980's, he had been of assistance when the U.S. was trying to smuggle an important scientist out of his home country. All of this combined had given him a variety of interesting connections. And also resulted in a few people owing him favors that he never intended to pursue.

Until now.

The man sitting across from him in the small diner had sandy blond hair with slight streaks of grey. He had a large build, muscular shoulders, and a permanent twinkle in his green eyes. His jaw was strong, and his smile was genuine. "Farrokh, I haven't heard from you in ages. How the heck are you?"

"I'm good. How are you, Peter?"

"Getting old. I still feel like we just celebrated the millennium. Partying like it's 1999, right?"

"You know me. Always partying, although probably more like it's 1899 these days."

He laughed and took a drink of black coffee. "I hear you. We're all slowing down. So…what can I do ya for? I'm guessing you didn't want to meet just to see my handsome face?"

"Ah." Farrokh sighed. "Nothing good, I'm afraid."

"What's up?"

"I need to get someone out of the country."

"I…see." Peter paused. "They in trouble?"

"Yes. You could say that."

He leaned in and lowered his voice. "Well, let's cut through all the vagueness. Even if I can't help you, I'm not going to blab unless there's an imminent threat. You know me, Farrokh. But I have to know what I'm dealing with. Is it a threat to the country? Someone with terrorist connections?"

"No, no." Farrokh was relieved that he assumed the worst. It would make the truth more palatable. "Nothing related to international affairs. Not a threat to the country or anything like that. He was born in the U.S., and I don't think his parents had international ties. But…he's still committed a severe crime."

"I see." He put a hand over his mouth and studied Farrokh with an intensity that probably came from over twenty-five years of interrogations. "So why are you saving the bastard?"

"_That_…is a great question. And I guess my only answer is…because he is my friend," Farrokh answered honestly. "He's young. I don't think he knew what he was doing. The crime was committed in self-defense; it just can't be proven. But I believe he can do great things in time. I don't think he deserves to rot in a prison cell for the rest of his life."

"All right. Anything else I should know?"

"He does…have a very severe facial deformity. He wears a mask to cover it."

"That's great!"

Farrokh stared at Peter as though he'd lost his mind. "What?"

"It's a great excuse to get him out. Medical reasons. No one would look twice at it."

Farrokh suppressed a smile, not wanting to appear overeager in this delicate situation. "So you're going to do this for me, Pete?"

He laughed. "I trust you. You've always helped when you felt it was right and refused when you didn't. You're so goddamned ethical, it's annoying sometimes. We'll make it work."

"Thank you." Farrokh stared down into his cup of tea. "I think we're doing the right thing."

From out of a bureaucracy whose gears usually turned so slowly, a passport and other travel documents were soon ready. The police were still investigating the murder of Tyler, but Erik had done a decent job of keeping his identity a secret around those kids. And while his father certainly wasn't eager to help, he hadn't turned his son in to the authorities either. Farrokh knew, though, that it was just a matter of time before some neighbor would wonder if the strange, rarely-seen masked boy next door was the one being described to police. Peter would be of some help if Erik were suddenly arrested at the last moment, but all of them had worked quickly enough to make sure it didn't get to that level. The media would go crazy with conspiracy theories.

Several states away from where Erik and he had once lived, Farrokh waited in a small coffee shop for a last visit with his former pupil. At just past ten p.m., Erik entered wearing a long black coat and hood. Cold yellow eyes shone from behind a flesh-colored mask. Farrokh wouldn't have wanted to run into him on a dark street corner. And he wondered if he had done the right thing by releasing this young man upon the world. "Hello," Farrokh greeted.

Erik sat in the chair with his shoulder to the door, so that he could keep his face away from the entrance while still keeping one eye on it. "Good evening, Farrokh." He sounded resigned and tired.

"Is it all figured out?"

"Yes. To Canada first. Then Europe. It will be a grand adventure, won't it?"

"Did you say goodbye to Zachary?"

"I know no one by that name," Erik stated in an icy tone.

"I understand." He sighed and let it go. "Any idea what you'll do? Navigating a foreign country by yourself is no easy task. Trust me; I've been there."

"I will be fine. I have various talents. Thanks to you, I have a full education."

"But no degree."

"Those are overrated…_Dr._ Nabavi."

Farrokh sensed him smiling behind the mask. He sadly smiled back. "Let me know that you've made it out safely. I trust Peter, but he is…one of the men in black, if you know what I mean. And then…."

"Then I will leave you in peace," Erik whispered. "Do not worry. You have done enough."

Both men soon stood; he had stopped thinking of Erik as a boy. Farrokh held out a hand, and Erik slowly shook it. "Do good things, Erik. Please do good things."

"We do what we do," Erik replied. And seconds later, he was gone.

Farrokh sat at the table by himself for nearly an hour. A heavy feeling settled over him, the weight of his conscience telling him that he'd just done something very, very wrong. The sensation followed him as he finally left the café and returned to his hotel room. His head ached, and his stomach hurt even more. For some reason, he wasn't ready to return to California and face his daughter. So he waited a week, taking long walks of solitude and wondering when his physical ailments would subside.

Finally, his stomach hurt so badly one night that he weakly drove himself to the nearest hospital. The day before, he'd vomited up blood. They kept him under observation for several days and ran tests, including a gastroscopy in which a tube was inserted into his mouth and down into his stomach. Then they took a biopsy. When the results came back, he knew instantly, by the expression on the doctor's face, that it wasn't good news.

"You have a malignant tumor. Gastric cancer, I'm afraid. Somewhat advanced."

It didn't completely sink in at that moment. The news floated on his consciousness, waiting to be accepted as reality. "That'll teach me to dump hot chili on my burrito, won't it?" he softly joked.

"You have lots of options, Dr. Nabavi. Surgery, radiation, chemotherapy. And then homeopathic remedies are very popular these days. Depending on where you want to receive treatment, I can tell you the best facilities."

He could tell by the doctor's voice that it was all a matter of prolonging his life, not saving it. And Farrokh was more about quality than quantity these days. "How long?" he softly asked.

"You never know with these things."

"How long?"

"You should tell your family."

"_How long?"_

The doctor sighed. "If you act quickly, with treatment, maybe a year. Maybe two."

"Thank you."

He didn't cry. And he didn't call his daughter. Not yet. A numbness settled over him. And while Farrokh hadn't thought of Erik often during the last week, too caught up in his own trauma, a guilt still tugged at the back of his mind. The weight of his recent actions and his illness pressed against him, and there were brief moments when it almost became too much. But no. There were still precious loose ends remaining. After being released from the hospital, Farrokh booked a plane ticket back to California.

Before leaving, he had to fill a couple more forms out at the hospital. His mind was dull as he mechanically did so, and he absently thanked the medical staff for all their help. As Farrokh departed and drove six miles away from the hospital, he was suddenly hit by a cold rainstorm. The water drops pounded against his window, and he squinted to see as the glass fogged up. He hoped the roads wouldn't turn to ice.

Suddenly, a grey car in front of him spun out of control, its back right tire completely blowing out. Farrokh held his breath and gripped his steering wheel, watching as the vehicle finally came to a peaceful rest at the side of the road. He squealed to a stop behind it, checked back to make sure no one was coming, and jumped out of his car. The cold wind and rain penetrated through his clothes and coat.

A young, thin man with blond hair climbed out of the other car seconds later, clutching the sides of his head. "Oh, God. Oh, God," he repeated over and over. Rain dripped down his face as he opened the back door and spoke to someone, frantically waving his hands toward the tire. Farrokh ran over to the man's side and glanced into the vehicle. A pretty young woman was breathing heavily in the backseat, her red face drenched in sweat and scrunched up in pain. At first, Farrokh thought she'd been hurt. But then he gazed lower and saw the true cause of her distress—she was very, very pregnant.

"If you can get her into my car, I'll take you to the hospital," Farrokh said once he found his voice. "Otherwise, I'll call an ambulance."

The man rapidly nodded, panic in his blue eyes. "I…I think I can get her in. That would be faster, right? Oh, God. Thank you! Thank you, Sir!" They managed to half-lead, half-carry the young woman to Farrokh's car, both taking one of her arms. As Farrokh climbed into the driver's seat, the couple sat in the back. Farrokh completed an illegal U-turn over the grassy median and sped to the hospital through the rain, knowing he'd have a perfect excuse if a cop decided to pull him over.

Over the pattering on the windshield, he could hear the man and woman murmuring words of love and reassurance to each other. Occasionally, she would moan or gasp, and Farrokh would speed up. He certainly did not want to deliver a baby. At the lit up entrance to the emergency area, he pulled up to the curb and helped them through the glass doors. Farrokh briefly noticed the man's last name as he scribbled it down on a form while his wife was helped into a wheelchair. You didn't see it much. Maybe German or Scandinavian?

"Boy or girl?" Farrokh softly asked before the man walked away to his wife and arriving child.

"Girl," he replied with a tired smile, rubbing one hand through the back of his wet hair. "We didn't think it was possible. And she wasn't even supposed to come for another month. But…here we are…thanks to you."

"Congratulations. I have a daughter myself. You…won't regret it."

"Thank you. Please let me know if I can ever do anything for you. God bless you, Mr…?"

"Just Farrokh," he murmured. "You take care." Farrokh headed back to the car.

For the first time in a long time, a strange sense of peace settled over him. _Release. Catharsis. _

As he drove to the airport, the rain stopped and the clouds began to part. Rays of sunlight streaked through the window, and the water droplets shimmered.

Farrokh silently wept.

It was time to go be with Zari.

* * *

_02/15/2018 12:25AM_

_From: deathstalkingabroad66 (Unknown)_

_To: fnabav21 (Farrokh Nabavi)_

I am safe. Goodbye, my friend.

* * *

_06/01/2033_

_To Mrs. Zari Nabavi-Foster:_

_You receive this letter only because of my relationship with your father. I was saddened to hear of his passing years ago. My debt to him is passed onto you in the form of a warning. _

_This is my only notice to you and you alone. Leave this doomed country. Take your family and leave and do not look back. While your first inclination may be to contact the police, the letter will be dust by the time they arrive. This is not a threat. Rather, it is your salvation. _

_Sincerely,_

_A Friend_

* * *

**2038**

"I haven't seen Meg for a while." Judy glanced at Raoul across the dining room table.

Raoul cleared his throat and stared at his plate of glazed ham and pineapple. "Yeah. I think she's been busy." Meg seemed to be avoiding him since that awkward day. And he wasn't exactly sure what to say to her. _I like you. But things are so crazy and confusing right now that I'm not really sure…I can have a relationship. Maybe someday?_ It sounded cold-like something the typical guy would say. Yet it was the truth. Things were crazy and confusing.

"Well, let her know that she's welcome over here at any time. I really like her."

"Sure."

Judy turned to Phillip. "I'm glad that you could come to dinner tonight. You've been so busy."

"I know, Mom. I have. We're getting so close, though. I've got to give it a hundred and fifty percent."

"I know. Just be careful. I worry."

"I've got great bodyguards. Don't worry. I'm fine." His phone suddenly rang, the high-pitched bell startling them all. "I better take this." Phillip answered and hopped up from his chair. "Yeah? You're kidding, I can't even…." His deep voice faded away as he strode out of the room.

Judy sighed. "I wish he'd turn the volume on that thing down." They ate in silence for several minutes. She set down her fork and stared at him. "You keep an eye on your brother."

Raoul chuckled. "He's the older one. Maybe he should keep an eye on me."

"He always has to be in the spotlight. Just like your father. It's dangerous, especially in these times. People see him as wealthy and part of the government, so they scapegoat him for everything." She paused. "If only they knew how much he did on their behalf…."

Raoul sensed that the last sentence was more in reference to his father. "I know. But Phil will be okay. He knows what's he's doing."

"What am I doing?" Phillip smirked as he came back into the kitchen.

"Being the best son ever," Judy replied.

"Hey!" Raoul playfully glared at her. He turned back to Phillip. "Anything interesting?"

"Yes, actually." Phillip sat down and faced forward; he did love being the center of attention. "So first, John dropped out of the race."

"_What?_" Raoul knew what that meant. It was now Phillip running only against Cameron's man, Xavier, with no other party to challenge them. "Isn't that really good for you? You should blow that guy out of the water."

"Yeah. Sort of too good to be true."

"That's wonderful," said Judy, clasping her hands together. "You won't have to run around giving as many speeches, right?"

"Let's not rush to conclusions, Mom. This is still a little weird. And there's some bad news, too. Senator Chesser is now officially endorsing all of Cameron's guys."

"Chesser was never a great guy to begin with," Raoul replied. "Kind of creepy. And he's always been kind of a fundamentalist, right?"

"Yeah. But it's still strange to have someone with that much power endorsing Cameron. Especially because things have cooled down this summer."

"They have," Judy agreed. "It hasn't been as scary."

"Yeah, and Cameron should be receiving _less _support now that the violence has died down. So that's why it's weird. We'll see. The Community is going to have some final event at the end of this month. Like their version of a convention."

Raoul dropped his fork onto his plate. It clattered loudly, startling his mom and brother. "Sorry. Um, wow. Do…do you think the Spirit will make a showing? Heh." His heart was pounding.

Phillip shrugged. "Maybe. It sounds like it's going to be big. But it's not going to be televised live, so anything with the Spirit will probably be edited out."

"When is this thing?" Raoul asked.

"About three weeks. Why?"

"Nothing. Just curious."

The conversation drifted away from politics as Judy began to discuss some changes she wanted to make to the house, pulling out old carpet and adding a stronger fence to the backyard. Raoul half-listened, his mind in other places. After dinner, he said goodbye to his family and crept back to his apartment. He locked the door behind him. Taking a deep breath, he dialed a number.

"Hey, Chagny," answered Anthony. "What's up?"

"We're on."

* * *

"You have such nice, thick hair," Mrs. Robinson murmured, styling it with her slender hands in front of the mirror. Christine winced as she tugged on it. "We'll sweep it up for the wedding. Unless your fiancé would like it down?"

"I don't know," Christine softly replied, eyeing herself again in the white dress. It was the final fitting. This would be what she would look like on her wedding day. The girl in the mirror still appeared kind of lost. "I haven't asked."

"You should learn these things," she chided. "How else would you please him?"

Christine frowned, annoyed at these conversations that all the Community women wanted to have. There were more important things to think about than how Erik wanted her hair.

"Will you be singing at the ceremony?" Mrs. Robinson finally released her blonde locks.

"Yes," Christine replied. "One song." Her voice lessons had been extremely intense over the last few weeks. This event would be one of the biggest in the history of the Community, Erik said. All members were invited, and parts of the assembly would be broadcasted all across the country. She wrung her hands, and her reflection did the same.

"Very good." After glancing to the side, Mrs. Robinson leaned in beside her left ear. "I bet I know who your husband is going to be." She smiled slyly.

Christine paled. "Who?" she whispered.

"The chorus conductor. It explains why you get to sing. Cameron keeps it a secret because people might frown over the age difference. But I think it will be just fine."

Christine inwardly laughed. The man was at least seventy, a grouchy widower. She only smiled at the older woman in the mirror. "It's a secret."

"I knew it," said Mrs. Robinson, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze. "But I won't tell."

About twenty minutes later, she joined Erik outside in a waiting car, grateful to escape that woman and her advice. All details of her wedding had been decided right up to the type of flowers that would decorate the altar. All she had to do now was…go to the ceremony.

"Is all to your liking?" he softly asked once she was seated. "Did you have enough time?"

"Yes." She looked up into the yellow eyes and saw gentleness along with the hint of intensity. "The dress is very beautiful."

"I am sure you will look like a queen. I wish I could give you something grander. I wish the entire world could witness your beauty, and they will under different circumstances. But I am afraid I can never be in the spotlight."

"It's fine, Erik. It'll still be a very nice wedding."

Before they left the Community, he took her to the stage where she soon would be performing. The event would be outdoors in a new concrete structure, very similar to a circular stadium. Tens of thousands of people would fit in the seating area. The bright green grass was cut short, and golden and silver banners with religious symbols hung on the grey walls. "You will have to project your voice very far," he stated as they stood on the stage together in the evening light and looked outwards. "But I know you will be able to do so."

As they walked away, she took his hand. "Erik, where…where will our wedding be?"

"In the chapel attached to Cameron's compound. He has insisted on officiating. You do not mind?"

"No. I was just wondering." She wanted to prepare herself for every detail of that day and avoid going into shock.

He waved his other hand to the side. "The ceremony does not matter. What only matters is that you will be my wife in less than a month. I will have you forever." He was so certain, so firm. There was no turning back, and she still didn't know if she wanted to do so.

Or maybe he wasn't so certain. On the night before her performance, he played the piano while she crocheted. The song suddenly stopped. The music always seemed to entwine itself with her handcrafts, and she was thrown off when he stopped playing. Christine frowned and quickly began to undo several bad stitches. She then glanced up and saw that he was staring at her. When their eyes met, Erik sharply turned away and stared down at the keys. Silence followed. And then…."Are you…happy?" he asked in a barely audible voice.

"What?"

"Are you happy?" he repeated.

She hesitated. "I'm…." She honestly didn't know what she was. Sometimes very content. Other times-confused or resigned or a little sad. "I still feel like there's so much I don't know."

He tilted his head. "Why must you know everything to be happy? Ignorance can be bliss, you know?"

"I don't need to know _everything._ But some things would be nice."

"Like?"

"Well, about you." She started with something simple, as opposed to: _Why are there weird voices in your basement?_ She still wasn't sure if that had been her imagination, and Erik hadn't left her alone again. "Your family. Where are they?"

"I have no family."

Christine eyed him. "So did they pass away when you were a baby? Is that what you mean? Please tell me something about you. Otherwise I…I feel like I'm marrying a Spirit."

He sighed. "_Fine._ If only to satiate your curiosity. My mother killed herself when I was a child. She was a miserable woman. The idiot who was once my father wanted little to do with me. So I left. There is only one individual from my youth whom I have any respect for, and he is long deceased."

"I'm so sorry," she murmured with a swallow. "But I'm glad you told me."

"It was long ago. It does not matter. There is only you now. And your happiness."

She looked down, wanting to give him the truth but still not understanding what that was. "Erik…I always felt kind of doomed after my father brought me to the Community. I felt so trapped, and my future didn't seem like it could ever be happy. But you've given me a lot more. The chance to learn so many things. And to sing. And I love talking to you." She paused and pulled at a loose piece of yarn. "And so…I…I'll be your wife. And I think that…maybe…we could be happy." Saying it aloud caused her heart to jump. "But Erik…."

"Yes?" he rasped.

She wetted her lips and took a deep breath. "Maybe someday we should leave here. If things don't change. And go somewhere else. Somewhere without Cameron."

"Don't you want to be a queen?" he asked. "I can give you so much here."

"But there are so many lies. And Cameron—I don't know if I trust him." Despite her apprehension, it felt good to admit these things to Erik.

He hesitated and ran his fingers along the keys. She could see heavy conflict in the yellow eyes. "Let us get through this dark winter. And, then, we will think of other things. And maybe you will learn to be happy here, my beauty. You will have everything you could ever want. You are so very loved, you know?" The pale skin on his neck twitched as he swallowed. "It may not mean very much, coming from an ugly creature like myself. But that is why I offer you the world as well. Does having the world at your fingertips balance out marriage to a monster? I had always hoped so…."

Her chest hurt as she heard him say these things. And she was disturbed that he seemed to see this as some sort of bargain. Christine slowly got up and walked over to him. She sat down beside him on the wooden piano bench. His shoulders tensed as she rested a hand on his arm, but he didn't look at her. "Erik, you're not a monster. All I want is honesty. And trust. And kindness. You don't have to give me anything else."

"But I do," he replied, glancing at her. "I must." He sighed. "Look at you," he whispered. "From the second I heard you sing, I knew there was no other in the world for me. It was you or nothing." He turned slightly so that he could rest both hands on her shoulders and then trailed them down her limbs. Both of his long, thin arms were nearly wrapped around her as his hands came to rest at her wrists. Their legs touched. "If you want me to stop touching you, say so." His voice brushed against her ear. "You allow me to get so close to you as it is, yet I always want more. I'll never get enough of you, my beauty. So you will have to tell me when to stop. Tell me, and I will do no more." He held her close to him, eyelids shutting. She shivered, her head leaning against his shoulder. "I so love you," he whispered.

"I…I know," was her hoarse response. As her heart raced, his hands released her wrists and moved to her warm stomach. She softly gasped as they traveled upwards.

Erik took the sound to be fear and quickly released her. "Forgive me," he rasped, withdrawing his hands and jumping up from the bench. "Please forgive me."

"No. Don't be…. I just…_slowly._" She could barely get the words out of her dry mouth.

"Slowly?" His arms hung limply at his sides.

She took a shuddery breath. "Everything has moved so fast, that I just…need other things to move _slowly_. Please."

"Slowly." She took his repetition of the word to be disappointment. Until he said, "My beautiful wife will allow me to touch her _slowly_. Not never. But slowly…."

"Yes," she whispered. "That's right…." After a moment's hesitation, she quickly wished him goodnight and went to her bedroom, her heart still pounding frantically in her ears.

He didn't speak of their interaction the following day, jovially focusing on her performance instead. Christine was grateful for this, still needing time to process all her confused thoughts. That evening, she wore a velvet midnight blue dress that would almost shimmer under the lights of the stage. Her hair was clipped up in a golden barrette. She'd become slightly less nervous about performing in front of an audience. Still, Christine wished she could begin singing for something other than Cameron's stupid events. But Erik said she was still the face and the voice of the Community.

Their journey to the Community began as it always did, calm and uneventful. They took the usual path to the top and met the black car. It drove through the dilapidated city and then into the rural areas. By now, Christine was so familiar with the trip that she could have probably made it by herself.

As they drove closer, she noticed a dark green car out of the corner of her eye. It was stopped to the side of the road, almost hidden beneath the shadows of several tall trees, and a younger man was standing next to it. He was of East Asian descent and unfamiliar, dressed in normal Community attire. Maybe he was a visiting member whose car had broken down? Her eyes passed over him indifferently. Until-a blond head in the passenger's seat caught her attention as the car whizzed by them.

She felt her heart skip a beat.

_Raoul? _

She side-glanced Erik. He was looking out the opposite window. Christine said nothing, swallowing the nervous lump in her throat.

_It couldn't have been…. He wouldn't put himself in danger again, right?_

"Are you nervous?" Erik asked, turning and watching as she folded her arms across her chest.

"A little," she admitted.

"You will do fine, my love. We have been practicing for weeks."

"I know."

_It couldn't have been Raoul…._

After Erik disappeared to…wherever he went during these events, she was driven to the assembly. Thousands of people had gathered throughout the structure, standing right below the stage and sprawled out through the other seating areas. Christine waited in the back shadows as Cameron gave a long speech about how the time of God's victory would soon be upon them. She half-expected Erik's magic tricks to come next and cringed at the thought. She would be happy when he no longer had to be the Spirit…_the lie._

When he was finished speaking, Cameron announced that it was time for her to sing. _Maybe Erik's tricks would come last…._The audience loudly applauded, but she could feel Cameron frowning at her beneath his beard. Ignoring him and gathering herself together, Christine went up to the front of the stage. Her stomach turned as she stared at the sea of smiling, hopeful faces. To her relief, she started strongly, voice soaring throughout the gaping space. Her confidence increased; Erik had prepared her well.

But, toward the middle, Christine sensed that something wasn't quite…_right_. A tension hung in the air. Still singing, she glanced to the side and saw that Cameron had disappeared. Except for her, the stage was completely empty. The audience was now glancing behind her with puzzled frowns, and community guards were running toward the back. Over the sound of her own voice, she heard men yelling.

Her mouth closed before she finished the song, and Christine turned around in alarm. As she did so, a gunshot rang into the air behind her. And then another.

With a soft cry, she dropped to her knees and covered her head with her arms. People screamed from down below and footsteps pattered across the stage, and her eardrums echoed with the disharmony around her. Within several seconds, someone was roughly shaking her shoulders. She looked up and saw a guard standing over her with a grim expression. "Get up and get off the stage," he said. "You're fine. Just get off the stage. You're not in danger." She nodded and shakily stood, desperately looking around for Erik or some explanation as to what had happened. The crowd had started to run away from the stage area, many of the people probably used to violence from their lives on the Outside.

Slowly, though, the people began to turn and look toward the front again, their brows furrowed with fearful curiosity. Some people murmured, and others gasped.

Once she was on the ground, Christine noticed their faces and glanced back as well.

And then she gaped in horror.

Cameron and three community guards were holding a young man by the arms and shoulders. _Raoul._ He struggled to get away, nearly punching one of the men in the mouth. They held fast and roughly forced him down to his knees, facing the audience.

"Here we are," said Cameron into the microphone. "Here we are. There is no danger. Everyone calm down." The crowd quieted and waited. Christine was frozen.

"Here we meet in peace, my friends," Cameron continued. "Here we come to praise God and celebrate in utter peace. We harm no one. We operate within the law and follow the democratic process. Yet do you think the sinful, evil Outside will allow us peace? _No._ Instead they send in two _boys_ with their guns to hurt us. They bring in violence!" The crowd booed. Cameron pressed his palms down against the air to quiet them. "Do you know who this is, my friends?" he asked, gesturing toward Raoul. "This is the wealthy and privileged son of Senator Ethan Chagny. He is the brother of candidate Phillip Chagny. He comes from a long line of powerful men in Washington. As many of you may remember, Ethan was tragically murdered. But did this young man learn anything from that horrible act? No. No, of course not. He now comes here to put a bullet in _my_ head all for political gain! That is the Outside for you, my friends. Brutal! Merciless! Hungry for power and control! And that is why they will fail!"

The audience roared in agreement.

"You're a goddamned lying murderer!" Raoul shouted, his face bright red. She could only hear him because of her proximity to the stage. "I didn't-" One of the men clamped a hand over his mouth and whispered what was likely a terrible threat. Raoul glared hotly but was quiet. Christine's heart raced as she tried to determine a course of action. _Where was this going to go?_

"So now what are we going to do?" asked Cameron to the crowd.

"Hang him!"

"Kill him!"

Raoul's face turned ghost white as the Community cried out for justice. Christine was preparing to sprint forward and beg for her friend's life in front of the bloodthirsty audience. She gathered her energy and adrenaline, unwilling to think of what could happen to her once she was up there. Cameron's next words spared her the dangerous act.

"No," Cameron whispered into the microphone. "No. We are going to grant forgiveness. That is what we do here. That is what God wants us to do. Unfortunately, the young man who accompanied Mr. Chagny this evening is no longer with us. He tried to kill one of our own, one of our godly women, and we had no choice but to defend her. We were unable to revive the young man, and my heart breaks over this. As should yours. But, with Mr. Chagny, we will return him to the Outside. And we will pray for his soul, won't we?"

"Yes," the crowd murmured in agreement.

"Pray for him!"

"Save him!"

While slightly relieved, Christine stared at the hypnotized crowd as though she were in a strange dream. She could see the clear agony on Raoul's face even as it looked as though his life was going to be spared. His friend was probably dead, she realized. Had that other boy really tried to kill an innocent woman? Raoul would never be part of something like that, right? _Not the Raoul she knew._

"Good luck out there, Mr. Chagny," said Cameron Lourdes as the guards dragged him away. "Let's hope the authorities in your sinful world are as merciful as I am."

For no reason at all, the crowd cheered at this. Christine felt like the only sane person in the entire situation. And sanity hadn't exactly been her most loyal friend these last few months….

After glancing over both shoulders, maybe wondering if Erik was watching her, she slowly followed the guards that were dragging her old friend away. She wanted to make sure he was truly safe. And she wanted answers. Because, even in the chaos, Christine knew that one of two things had likely happened.

Either Raoul's hatred of the Community was so strong that he and his friend had come there that day to commit a senseless act of murder.

Or Cameron Lourdes had just overseen the execution of an innocent person.


	18. Chapter 18

Thank you for all the great feedback. I hope you find this chapter exciting—although it is darker.

I did research the technology used in this chapter. Without giving too much away, I'll just say that voice recognition security systems are still a new technology. They are supposed to be secure, but there are still unknowns regarding just how safe they are and how/whether they could be outsmarted. I took what I read and combined it with a little sci-fi.

**Read and Review!**

Maybe he should have noted the size of the crowds and realized just how popular Cameron had become within those last months. Or perhaps he should have listened more closely as Phillip complained that Mr. Lourdes now had connections within the government and police force. By the time Raoul realized he was dealing with far more than a little fringe cult, it was too late. These thoughts would haunt him for months to come.

Anthony had been hesitant on the phone. "I don't know, man. Things have been quiet. What if we disrupt the peace?"

"We're just doing a little spying," Raoul insisted. "If we get caught, we'll get kicked out. Like I was last time. No big deal. Don't you want to know what the Spirit really is? Don't you want to expose it for a giant fraud?"

"I'm curious, I guess." He sighed. "All right. I'll figure something out. Is Meg helping?"

Raoul hesitated. "Nah. Probably better to keep it between you and me."

"Sounds good."

Anthony brought equipment that could detect where sounds and vibrations were originating and measure the strength of them. If the _Spirit _tried another earthquake or thunderstorm, they wanted to determine how the realistic noises were produced. While Anthony had ideas as to how the visuals were created, he said that'd be harder to track. "We could be dealing with holograms or some other kind of 3D projection technology." A deep frowned crinkled his forehead as he thought over this.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm weirded out, I guess. The people or person creating this stuff has to be really smart. If it's holography, you're dealing with lasers. If it's digital, someone knows a lot about computer graphics. I only know the very basics from college. Why would someone so intelligent be helping this nutcase?"

Raoul considered this for several seconds and then said, "Power maybe? Cameron can excite the crowds. The other people can do the illusions. If they work together, they both win."

"Could be," Anthony replied. "Even creepier…what if Cameron is someone's puppet?"

The thought made Raoul shudder slightly. At least Cameron was a tangible enemy. But what if there really were something darker involved? "Nah," he finally said, trying to reassure both of them. "I think Cameron is in charge. But you're right; he must have some smart friends."

Their first disturbing signs that this mission was going to be unsuccessful were the massive crowds and the size of the venue. It was clear that the Community had gone from a small town to a movement with enough people and wealth to form a city. Raoul's heart rate increased as he watched thousands of members migrate toward the front gates. The Community stretched back farther than the eye could see.

"Do you still want to do this?" Anthony asked.

"Do _you_?"

His friend laughed nervously and shrugged. "Yeah. Let's do it. We're here. What's the worst that could happen? I'll be Shaggy, and you can be Fred."

Raoul also laughed. "We're going to need a dog then. And Daphne is part of the cult while Velma's not speaking to me. I don't think the Scooby gang is doing so hot."

The humor helped their nerves a little bit. Raoul took a deep breath. Clothed in Community attire, a white long-sleeved dress shirt and black pants, Anthony emerged from the car first. They both wore miniature headsets with microphones that would allow them to communicate with each other over a two-way radio. To make it less suspicious and because the Community was more familiar with Raoul's face, Anthony would go in first. He would begin the investigation and let Raoul know when it was safe to follow.

"Good luck," Raoul said as Anthony climbed out.

"You, too," Anthony replied with a half-smile.

Stomach flip-flopping, Raoul waited for Anthony to start talking. Twenty-five minutes ticked by. Finally, he heard, "I'm in. Trying not to look like I'm talking to myself."

"You're around the craziest people in the country," Raoul replied. "I wouldn't worry."

"Heh. All righty. Give me some time to look around. It's really crowded."

"K." Raoul nervously tapped his foot as he waited.

"Wow," he heard Anthony murmur.

"What's up?"

"It's insanely busy. So…behind the stage area, kind of connected to it, there's this building. It's got three or four floors; I'm on the second. I told them I needed to repair sound equipment, and they let me in. I can see the entire arena from the window. I'm wondering if some of the tricks happen in here. There's a lot of wires…."

"Any sign of our Spirit?"

"Not yet. Just one long, terrible speech, dude. But you should be able to get in. Go up the right side of the stone wall, and there's this entrance with only one guard. Cameron is speaking, so everyone is paying attention to him."

"Got ya. I'll take a look."

After glancing over both shoulders, Raoul left the car and headed in the right direction, footsteps softly crunching over the dry grass. The arena was a fair distance from the front, and it took some time to walk up there. Soon, he could hear Cameron's voice and the cheers of the audience. The entrance Anthony had mentioned was now guarded by two stern men, but Raoul quickly found another opening where the guards were speaking to each other in low voices. Their backs were toward him. As he slowly approached, static crackled in his ear. "Hey….What the hell?"

Raoul stopped walking. "What happened?"

"I….There's this butterfly…."

"A butterfly? Wow. Thanks for letting me know." Raoul chuckled.

"No. It's not what you think. It's…holy shit." A pause. "Someone's coming!" he exclaimed in a whisper.

Raoul's eyes widened. "Give me a second. I'll get there." Holding his breath, he tried to creep through the entrance, sensing for the first time that this had been a truly bad idea. He needed to get them both out of there. _Now._

"Hey!" one of the guards exclaimed. "You can't come this way! Authorized personnel only. Go through the front and get your name checked, kid!" Before they could grab him, Raoul dove into the crowds who were now focused on….He closed his eyes as he heard her beautiful voice singing. _Christine._ There was no time to think about that. On Anthony's side, people were yelling.

"What's going on?" Raoul frantically asked. "Who's there? Tell them I'm coming…and that this is my fault!"

"What are you people doing?" Anthony was speaking to someone on the other side. "Hey, let go of me! Get your hands off me!" A pause. And then Anthony spoke as though he just noticed someone else in the room. His voice shook with pure terror. "What the hell _are_ you?! _Please…_."

And then Raoul heard another voice that made his blood run cold. It was nearly supernatural, beautiful and horrible. And it rasped, _"He knows what he should not know…."_

Cameron's voice came next. "Oh dear."

"Quiet," said the terrible voice. "The boy is wired."

They must have discovered the microphone because there was only loud static and then silence. Ignoring everyone around him, including the men that were chasing him, Raoul shoved past people and forced his way into the building that Anthony had described. The rooms on the first floor had plush white carpet and expensive black leather furniture; it was clearly a ritzy location to watch the assembly. He found a set of polished wooden stairs and climbed toward the top. Rapid footsteps echoed behind him. "Where are you?" he hollered, staring at four different closed black doors on the second floor. "Anthony? Where the hell are you!?"

Raoul was given his answer by the sound of two gunshots behind the closest door on his right. "No!" He threw it open- just in time to see Anthony slump to the carpet, two bright red stains forming on the front of his white shirt, one on his chest and one on his stomach. He cast Raoul a look of apology as he hit the ground with a thud. Raoul choked in horror and reached out toward him. _"No…."_

"Get out of here," Anthony rasped, the light slowly fading from his eyes. "The Spirit…it's _real_…." Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth.

"No!" Raoul choked out again. He cursed and knelt down beside his friend. "God, no, no, no. _Please no_." He touched the stains as though his hands might stop the bleeding, knowing deep down that it was too late. There was far too much blood; the shots were intended to kill quickly.

Before he could even try to help in any way, Raoul heard a sharp _click._ Two guns were pointed directly at him. Still crouched down beside his friend on his knees, he put both red stained hands up in the air, squeezing his eyes shut and preparing to die. "Please." A final plea for life.

"_Stop!_" exclaimed Cameron. Raoul glanced up as he entered the room. "We cannot kill _him_." Cameron turned to one of his guards and whispered something into the man's ear, gesturing toward Anthony's body. The guard shook his head. Cameron then almost seemed to be speaking to himself, his lips moving but his eyes staring straight forward. Mr. Lourdes glanced at Raoul and sighed. Raoul glared back, the sight of his dead friend bringing him near tears. "Yes, you're very lucky today," Cameron murmured.

"Get away from me!" Raoul snapped. "You shot him! You killed him, you evil bastard! We have to get him to a hospital…."

Cameron clicked his tongue. "If he is dead, a hospital will do little good. He must face God's judgment now." Raoul's pleas were ignored as he was dragged away from the lifeless body.

Seconds later, he was certain that he was going to be publically executed in front of an angry, screaming crowd. With fear and fury, he listened to Cameron's horrible lies, unable to finally stop himself from finally speaking out. A guard had then whispered in his ear, "If you don't shut up, I will slit your throat right here." A cold chill of fear ran through him, but he was quiet. Only his powerful family had saved him that day. _But not Anthony._ As Raoul was dragged off the stage, as the realization of what just happened completely sunk in, silent tears ran down his cheeks.

They brought him to a shiny, black car, and he stared at it with renewed terror, wondering if that was where the _deed_ would be done.

Then Raoul heard a voice behind him. A beautiful voice.

A last hope.

"Raoul!" A gasp and a cry. "Please! Just give me a second. He's my…my cousin!"

He rapidly turned around to see Christine trying to wrestle away from several of Cameron's men.

"Christine! You have to believe me!" he desperately yelled in a choked voice, pushing away his own captors. "We weren't going to hurt anyone! I promise! He's a liar!"

"Shut up!" the guard snapped, forcing his head down to make him get inside the vehicle.

"No!" Christine yelled, elbowing one of the men in the chest. "I want to make sure he's okay! Let me go!"

Someone was playing a soothing piano melody on stage, probably trying to lull the audience back into a peaceful state of mind after all they had witnessed. Some people appeared as though they were trying to leave, but the guards refused to let them out yet. Raoul blanched as Cameron left the stage and began to approach them. The vile man's eyes were focused on Christine, his stare filled with anger and alarm. Even hatred. Raoul realized that she could be in danger. He forced himself to calm down and stop struggling for her sake. "I'll be okay," he called, mustering all the confidence he could under those circumstances. "I'll be fine, Chris. Don't worry."

"Calm down, you stupid girl! He'll be taken to the police," added Cameron in a steady voice. His hands were curled into fists. "They'll decide what to do with him. I'm done with the matter. Now get back to the stage!"

Christine also appeared to stop struggling, nodding once and obediently turning in the opposite direction. Hoping she would be safe, Raoul reluctantly started to climb into the car, again praying for his own life. To everyone's surprise, she whirled back around, easily breaking free of the guards and dashing toward him, blue dress flying out behind her.

"I don't know what to believe," she whispered, grabbing his left hand as the guards pursued her. She was so warm. Her eyes held an awareness that he hadn't noticed before. No longer did she look like a brainwashed porcelain doll.

"The butterflies," he said through gritted teeth.

"Butterflies?"

They were both grabbed and pulled in opposite directions. He held her right hand tightly, long enough to directly whisper into her ear, "Something about them. Anthony found one, and something was wrong with it. They _killed_ him for knowing. You have to believe me. We didn't hurt anyone." With one last desperate glance, he released her.

"That's enough of you!" Cameron snapped as the guards firmly grabbed Christine and practically carried her away. "You are an ungodly devil of a woman!"

Suddenly, sirens wailed in the distance. The police were here.

"I'll be okay," he called to her, feeling more certain of it now. She nodded and looked back at him, fear and confusion in her pretty eyes.

For the first time since they'd seen each other as adults, Raoul felt as though he might be able to reach her. But now it was too late. It was all too late. With a sigh of resignation, he climbed into the back of the dark car.

"The police are sure slow these days," muttered one of the men as they were driven to the front.

"Soon there won't be any police, right, kid?" One of the other men roughly nudged him. "You'll have nothing left to protect you. You and your rich family. Maybe they'll bring back the guillotine." He laughed cruelly.

Raoul said nothing, jaw clenched as he focused toward the front. All he wanted was to make it out of this alive. When he saw an angry Phillip waiting out front with several police officers, relief hit him so strongly that he let out a sound between a laugh and a sob. He glanced back once, hoping that Cameron wouldn't hurt Christine. But…Anthony's last words returned to him.

"_The Spirit…it's _real_…."_

Something told him that Cameron wasn't completely in charge. Something else was out there.

_Watching._

_Waiting._

_Plotting. _

He and Anthony never had a chance.

* * *

She wasn't sure what would happen to her as she waited in the shadows by the stage, four men surrounding her as though she were a threat to the entire Community. As the piano played, people were finally allowed to leave. Police from the Outside came in, but she was unable to see what they were doing. In the corner, Cameron spoke in whispers to several of them. She eyed the group suspiciously, feeling her stomach turn. _What had taken place there that day? What new lies had she been told?_

When she saw Erik's form emerge in the darkness, a tower of black with two windows of yellow, Christine moved to approach him. One of the guards blocked her, but then Cameron called to him, "It's fine. Let her go now. Someone else can deal with her."

Casting a quick glare toward the guards, she walked toward her fiancé . They stared at each other, in a different place now than they had been hours before. He nodded once. "Let us go."

She nodded back in agreement. Once they were in the car, Erik took out a small black phone and dialed. In a low voice, he spoke to someone. "Yes. No. No, I am leaving with her. No. It is all taken care of. _All _of it. Do not be an idiot. I will see you soon." Christine stared at him expectantly as he hung up, wishing he would offer answers so that she didn't have to start begging for them. He only said, "I am simply resolving matters with Cameron." He didn't seem angry with her. Just…somewhat weary.

Christine stared down at her hands, not wanting to start the conversation with the driver present, even if he couldn't hear well. She waited until they were home, wondering if that was where Erik would reveal the happenings of that day-or whether he was as furious with her as Cameron was. But he only said, softly, "I imagine you are tired. You have had a very long day."

"I am tired. But I…I'd like to know what happened there. When I was singing. I'm so confused, Erik."

"You heard Cameron." His tone had an edge now. "Chagny and the other boy were out for blood. They were attempting an assassination and received exactly what they deserved."

She frowned in disbelief. "But I don't think Raoul would hurt anyone like that. He doesn't like Cameron, but-"

Erik laughed, and it made her shiver. "This new world makes people act in terrible, terrible ways, my dear. Their true natures come out. So your friend, whom you so _desperately _chased after today, has turned into a coldblooded killer. Astounding, isn't it?"

"I followed him because I thought they were going to kill him! He…is okay, right?"

"Why do you care? I just told you what he tried to do."

"Because he was my friend. And I think Cameron is wrong. I don't think Raoul—"

"Are you accusing me of lying?" Erik whispered, now towering over her.

And, for a moment, she was afraid again. Because if it ever came down to physical power, she would have no chance. Christine stepped backwards with wide eyes. "N-no."

He must have realized the awful effect he was having. His eyes quickly calmed, and he took a breath and reached out a pale hand toward her. "My love. That wretched boy is safe. He has been returned to the Outside, and they will deal with his crimes in their own way. Now I want you to forget today. Our wedding is very soon. Think only of that! Think only of our happiness. All else will be fine if you do that."

The desperation in his tone made her uncomfortable. "Erik…."

He knelt down to his knees and took her hands. "Christine, I will make you so happy. Forget that boy. Forget Cameron. It is only us, in the end. Everyone else could fall off the face of this godforsaken planet, and it wouldn't matter. We will be married very soon, right? You will be my wife?"

_But you said you wanted to help people…. _Staring down at him, she could see it in his eyes at that moment. Along with the desperation and adoration—there was something else.

_Guilt._

_Erik, what did you do today? _

And Christine knew that she could no longer ignore that persistent feeling of utter wrongness. She gave him one last chance to be honest. "Erik, is there anything I should know? About today? About Raoul? About Cameron or the Community?" _About the…butterflies?_

"Oh, Christine." He gripped her hands tightly, clearly panicked. "My love, please let us forget these silly matters. It is all boring politics, you know? Just silly games men play because they have nothing better to do. Let me sing for you," he begged. "Will you forget this horrible day and let Erik sing for you?" She nodded in resignation, knowing he would give her nothing. Erik quickly stood, sat at the piano, played, and sang in a foreign language. And, as always, it was beautiful. It was perfection. And it warmed her in indescribable ways.

But it didn't make her forget. Her mind had become too strong, and it fought against the music. And it screamed at her through the notes and the melody, _"Something is very wrong! And you need to know what!"_

After he ushered her off to bed, her mind raged at her all night, throughout all her shadow-covered dreams. And she knew it would never go away. She didn't want it to.

There was only one place that might give her answers.

In the morning, Christine returned to her textbooks as though all were normal. She smiled at him when he came into the kitchen and thanked him when he made her a waffle covered with sweet blueberries. She asked him about a math word problem involving a car and a canoe, and he calmly explained it.

Right before her voice lesson, as Erik eagerly poised his fingers over the keys of the piano, she approached him. With a bright smile that told him she'd forgotten the previous day, Christine asked, "You know what I think would help me sing even better?"

He glanced at her. "What is that?"

"To have a recording of my voice. Then I could hear myself singing…and know where I need to improve."

"That is an excellent idea," he replied to her relief. "I had thought of it before, but…ah, you know how busy these days are. But yes. We will do so!" Erik gracefully jumped up, went into the closet, and brought out a small, circular device. He flipped it on with his thumb. The little green light indicated that it was recording. "It's of extremely high quality. You will be able to hear yourself perfectly."

"Thank you!" she said as he placed it on top of the piano. And then she sang her heart out. The fear and anxiety that she was unable to show on the outside came through her voice, so much so that Erik even noticed.

He stared at her at the end of the first song. "Something is different," he murmured. "There is so much emotion in your singing. I have never heard anything quite like it."

"Is that bad?"

"Not at all," he murmured. "It is rather brilliant. Do not lose it." He turned back around, and they continued.

"Erik, will you sing at our wedding?" she asked toward the middle of the lesson. She prayed he couldn't hear the tremble of deception in her voice.

He tilted his head. "I had not planned on it."

"What about this song?" She reached into her pocket and handed him a piece of folded notebook paper where she'd scribbled the title. His eyes narrowed. "Can you read it? My handwriting is kind of messy sometimes. I'd always get in trouble for that at the Community. Because girls should have pretty handwriting…." Christine giggled.

He read the title aloud. Then he laughed. "Are you really serious? Christine… that is a terrible song from the 1980's. It would kill your poor Erik to sing it."

She also laughed, always keeping an eye on the recorder to make sure it was running. "That was my parents' song." Another lie. "I'm kidding, Erik! You can sing something else. Or nothing. We can just be together that day."

"You're such an odd girl, you know? I will consider singing something. Not _this_ but something. For our wedding." There was such delight in his eyes that she began to feel horrible. But the path was set now. There was no turning back.

Now that she had the recording, all she needed was the opportunity. Christine realized with dismay that she could be married before it arrived. This made her heart heavy, for how could she betray the man who was legally her husband? She knew that divorce and separation were common on the Outside, but it still would feel awful to be so deceptive after the vows had been read.

Fortunately, she was spared the heart wrenching confusion of that terrible situation.

The Opportunity arrived the day before her wedding. She'd done well in her acting; Erik didn't seem to suspect anything. They hadn't talked about that awful day with Raoul again, although it still replayed like an endless loop within her thoughts. All Erik talked about was their wedding.

"I will be gone for about five hours," he said that afternoon, sounding very irritated about the trip. "To meet with Cameron before our marriage and to attend to other issues."

Her heart jumped, and she asked, "Will I still have access to the theater? I kind of need some sunlight."

"Yes," he replied after a moment. "I will see you when I return?"

She nodded. "Yep! I'll make dinner. Chicken or pot roast?"

He chuckled. "Whatever you prefer, my love."

"And maybe blueberry pie for dessert?"

"Yes, that sounds delightful."

"I hope it's a nice day," she chattered. "I'd like to bring up some bread and feed the squirrels."

"I wish I could join you," he murmured, touching her hair.

"Me, too. Maybe another day."

Each fib rolled off her tongue until lying almost became second nature. She was an actress. She played the part she'd learned for years growing up in the Community. _The perfect wife._ And it was going to come back to haunt every one of them—including her.

Her heart pounded during the hour that she waited in the underground home to make sure Erik was really gone. If he caught her in the act, she was doomed. Christine slipped on a pair of jeans and a simple purple blouse that would allow for easy movement. She tied her tennis shoes tightly. And she grabbed two objects-the electric weapon and the little recorder.

Slowly, Christine went up the stairs, each footstep creaking loudly. All her movements made far too much noise; she wondered how Erik learned to silently dart from one place to the next. How had he become so much like the Spirit he pretended to be? _Maybe she would find out today…._

Holding her breath, she walked the long journey toward the mysterious third elevator. It waited there for her like Pandora's Box. She'd already rewound the recorder to the correct place while in her bathroom, turning on the shower so Erik couldn't hear the noise and suspect her intentions.

_Please let this work. _She sucked in her breath and pushed the elevator button. She pushed "play."

"Password?" asked the elevator.

"Open," said Erik's voice.

Christine waited, clutching the recorder so tightly that her fingers turned white.

"Password incorrect," said the elevator.

Her heart dropped. "Open" wasn't the password. She should have known Erik wouldn't make it that simple. _Of course_ he'd be smarter than that.

Christine let the recorder play to see if he'd said any other password possibilities. _"Open Arms? Are you really serious? Christine… that is a terrible song from the 1980's. It would kill your poor Erik to sing it." _

Could it be "song"? _Erik loved music, right? _She rewound the device to that word and gave it a try.

"Password incorrect. One try remaining before system closes."

_Only three tries?_ That made the situation even more desperate. Was it "music"? Did he say that word anywhere on the recorder? Christine sighed in utter frustration, heart pounding rapidly. But then, suddenly, she knew what her last best guess would be. What did Erik love more than music? She ran the recording to the word she wanted. Still thinking it wouldn't work, she warily pressed both buttons again.

"Password?" asked the elevator.

"Christine," said Erik's voice.

The elevator hummed. "Please repeat password."

Christine squinted in confusion and quickly tried again.

"Christine."

"Questionable voice interference. Please repeat."

_No, no, no….The password seemed right! Now what was wrong? What did "questionable voice interference" mean? _She tried again. "Christine." Erik's beautiful voice rang into the air.

"Questionable voice patterns. Please repeat."

Christine pounded her right fist twice against the metal doors and groaned in despair. And she knew that the elevator system detected that Erik's voice was a recording—or somehow sensed that _something _was off. Erik _had _thought of everything. She would _never_ know the truth. She would never know if the man she married tomorrow was being honest with her. Feeling sick to her stomach, Christine started to turn around and head back to _her_ home. It would be her home tomorrow. She would be his wife.

And then she thought of one last possibility….

_How much time was left?_ At least three hours probably.

It would be risky. It would be terrifying. It could sentence her to a life underground if something went wrong.

But it was her last hope. It was that or giving up.

She raced back to Erik's home, climbed down the stairs, and quickly found the object she was looking for in her dresser drawer. Then she jogged back up, completely out of breath by the time she'd reached the doors. At least another forty-five minutes had passed. Her time was so short.

She stared down at the phone in her hands. With trembling fingers, she dialed the one number Erik had given her and placed her hand over the receiver so that he couldn't hear what was happening on her side. She quickly pushed the elevator button. It lit up in yellow as she held the phone up to the doors.

And, after one ring, Erik answered exactly how she wanted him to answer.

"_Christine?" _

She squeezed her eyes shut.

"Password and voice confirmed. Thank you." The elevator doors rumbled open. Christine gaped, feeling as though she might faint from relief.

"Christine? Are you in danger?" Erik's voice was panicked. Her heart clenched. Whatever he was involved in, whatever she found out in these next moments, Erik truly loved her. He loved her, and she was deceiving him.

She removed her hand from the receiver and put the phone to her ear. "I'm sorry, Erik. I just…got scared. But I'm okay now."

"Are you sure? I am showing that you are still underground."

_If she ran, she would have to get rid of the phone. _"Yes, it was just a…a shadow. I'm jumpy. But I'm fine."

"I told you to only use this phone in an emergency."

"I'm sorry, Erik. I just got so scared," she whimpered. Her fear wasn't entirely an act. The elevator reached its destination, and the floor jolted her as it hit the bottom. With her free hand, she reached out to the wall to steady herself.

"It is fine. I will see you soon?" To her alarm, he did sound slightly suspicious.

_God help me._ "Yep. I'll be here."

"Very good. I will be home in several hours."

"Sounds great."

"Goodbye, my love. Make sure to rest for our day tomorrow."

"Goodbye, Erik."

The lies were breaking her, eating at her soul, but she _had_ to know. The doors finally slid open, and she found herself in a dark room. It lit up the second she stepped out, illuminated brightly by fluorescent bulbs. And she was faced with dozens of computers, monitors, and other complex machines- speakers and knobs and wires and buttons. Some buzzed or hummed, and she could hear a few jumbled voices speaking just as she had when she'd put her ear to the floor. As she walked over sterile linoleum tiles to the middle of the room, trying to decide what to look at first, a bright screen flashed on in front of her. An image appeared, nearly popping out at her in 3D form. And it moved and swayed and blinked. Lifelike almost.

Christine placed both hands over her mouth to suppress a scream.

It was…_._

_Her._

"Hi, Erik." The other Christine smiled, blue eyes flashing. "What can I do for you today?"


	19. Chapter 19

So more excitement in this chapter. And you'll probably hate me by the end of it. But…this story is a long, wild ride so I hope you'll stay with me ;) Thank you for all the kind words!

**Read and Review!**

"What the hell were you thinking?! Do you know what you've done?"

The words bounced off Raoul. The pain he had experienced the previous day was far worse than anything Phillip could throw at him as they stood in the living room of his mother's house. Judy sat to the side with her arms folded, several tear streaks still visible on her cheeks.

"What were you thinking?" Phillip asked again, thrusting his palms out.

Raoul swallowed and stared at the rug. "We wanted to know how the Spirit worked, how all the illusions were done. That's it. We didn't go there to hurt anyone." He closed his eyes as the horrible memory returned. "They killed him, Phillip. For no reason. They're the criminals. Why am I the one in trouble?"

"Because you were in _there_!" Phillip snapped. " Don't you know how bad that looks? _My_ brother snooping around in the Community? With guns!"

Raoul gritted his teeth. "That's a lie! We didn't have guns!"

"Well, they said you did!" Phillip continued to shout. "They said you were trying to assassinate Cameron! Do you know what that looks like? Do you know how _dangerous_ that is now? We're the good guys, Raoul! You just made us look like the bad ones!"

"Phillip," his mother softly interrupted. "He's been through enough. And I…I believe him. I don't think he went there to hurt anyone." Raoul cast his mother a grateful glance. He knew he'd put her through a lot that day, too.

Phillip took a deep breath and shook his head. "It's not about believing him. I believe him, too. It's about what it looks like. It looks like we're using violence to keep them out of power. That's the kind of thing that starts riots."

"Can't we prove that Anthony was innocent?" Raoul asked. "They killed him in cold blood, Phillip. Cameron should be in prison!"

"It's not that simple. _You_ were the ones who went in _there_. I don't know what Cameron did to the crime scene, but the police are saying it looked like Anthony was trying to kill someone. His fingerprints were all over a gun."

"Are the police in on it?" he asked, feeling sick inside.

"I don't know," Phillip admitted. "Not all of them. Probably some."

"I can't stand this!" Raoul exclaimed, pounding his fist against the wall. "That man is a psycho, and people still take him seriously enough to give him power. You should have seen the crowds there, Phil. It was terrifying! This country has gone insane!"

"Is Raoul in trouble?" Judy softly asked, looking desperately at Phillip. "Will he go to jail?"

Phillip hesitated. "It was a possibility. But I…I told everyone that he would be leaving the country soon. No one wants a circus of a trial right before the elections. Both the Community and our…allies want to sweep this incident under the rug." He paused and looked down as though ashamed. "In other words, we don't go after the Community for Anthony. They don't go after us over Raoul's trespassing and…_apparent _attempted murder. It's…I hate agreeing to under-the- table deals like that. But I didn't want my little brother to face court in this corrupt system. These times call for tough choices."

"Oh my God," she murmured. "What a mess."

"I want you to leave, too, Mom," Phillip softly added.

She sharply glanced at him and frowned. "What about you?"

"I'm staying here. I have to. Fighting on until November. And maybe then things will get better. But I want you guys to be safe."

Judy shook her head. "No. I'm staying with you."

"Mom—"

"Get Raoul out, but I'm staying with you." Her voice became panicked. "I'm not going through that again. I'm not going to spend day after day waiting and wondering if my son is okay. If you're here, I'm staying."

Phillip sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "We'll talk about this later." He glanced at Raoul. "So…little bro. You're leaving within the next two weeks. Probably to Canada. If I think you need to go even farther, I can send you to England. We have cousins there." Raoul remained silent, staring at the ground. Phillip came over and put a hand on his shoulder. "Raoul? I know it sucks. But, right now, this is what needs to happen. To get people off our backs. And for your safety."

Raoul finally shrugged and said, "Fine. Get me out of here. I can't do anything anyway. That's obvious." He paused. "Can you help me get Meg and her mom out, too? I promised them…."

"I'll see what I can do. It shouldn't be too hard to arrange travel. But…what will they do once they're somewhere else? It's not that easy to find work."

"I'll take care of them. I'm not going to lose any more friends."

Phillip nodded. "I really am sorry about Anthony. Don't blame yourself. No one could have seen that coming. It just shows…how bad things have gotten."

Raoul felt his stomach clench at the mention of his friend's name. Of course he blamed himself.

And he was finally ready to leave this horrible place. He was finally ready to let go.

* * *

"You act like nothing happened. It could have been a disaster!" Cameron exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air. He then ran his hands through his thinning hair and paced back and forth across his office. "It could have all come crashing down. All of it! "

The Spirit was calm, as always, hands behind his back. "I consider it rather fortunate."

"Are you insane?"

"Sometimes." He chuckled. "The matter was resolved very easily."

"We had a death at the most important ceremony of the year!"

"The boy had discovered the insect."

"Yes, and _how _did he manage that? Why was one of those _things_ inside the building, right where he could grab it?"

"_Why?_ Why do you think? It was tracking him. It was doing what it was meant to do! They sense physiological symptoms of panic, like little lie detectors. Had it not followed him, his presence would not have been known. Your guards are certainly useless idiots!"

"I will improve my security," Cameron replied. "But something went very wrong if that boy was able to easily figure out the thing!"

"It did," Erik said in a rare admission of responsibility. His thumbs ran across the tops of his other fingers; he was clearly perturbed by any imperfections in his carefully designed systems. "Normally, they cannot be caught. But this one malfunctioned. I can only believe it was thrown off by either the boy's equipment or all the electronics in that building. Its signals were disturbed."

"Are more going to malfunction?" Cameron coldly questioned. "I would like to know if my entire Community is going to be brought down by a swarm of butterflies. That should make for a fun read in the history books."

"No. I will overhaul them. Make them less sensitive to outside interference. But if you are so worried, would you like to improve them?"

Cameron hid a glare. The Spirit knew damn well that he didn't know how all that fancy technology worked. Besides Erik, there was no one else who could handle these things-at least no one who wanted to be a part of the Community. Most of the best scientists had probably fled the country by this point. "We _were _lucky. At least we were able to make it look like the two kids were carrying guns. And I have it on good authority that several members of the police force will help us out. "

"It's not such a tragedy," Erik murmured in agreement. "_They_ were the intruders. Most of the dead boy's relatives live overseas and have little influence here. With the older Chagny brother running for office, it all looks politically motivated. And it will go perfectly with my…October surprise."

Cameron hesitated and then dared to ask, "But you still didn't think it was a good idea to kill the Chagny boy?"

Erik's eyes seemed colder. "He is too high profile…for now. His brother would bring a war upon our heads, and it is not time for that yet."

"But you don't think Raoul knew too much?"

"He did not see the butterfly."

"You know…your future wife went chasing after that boy. It seems they're still friends, doesn't it?" Cameron paused. "And that's the _real _reason he's alive, isn't it? If she found out we'd killed him, we'd never get her back. She'd hate us, and we'd have no choice but to deal with her as well." Erik glanced away but was silent. Cameron knew he was right. "Erik, as I warned, your fiancée is quickly becoming a liability."

"She will _never_ see that wretched boy again. I-" Suddenly, a soft buzzing sound came from somewhere on Erik's body. It was the first time that Cameron had seen the composed masked figure appear genuinely alarmed. He quickly took out a phone and walked out of the room in several quick strides. "Christine?" Cameron heard him answer. And then he disappeared.

Cameron impatiently waited for several moments. When Erik returned, Cameron asked, "Is everything well?"

"Yes. All is fine." Erik glanced to the side as though distracted by some thought.

While the Spirit was slightly off balance, Cameron said, "After I marry you, I think it's best to keep her away from the Community. Once the elections are over, maybe she can sing sometimes. _Maybe._ But she's no longer part of the Community. Her actions these last weeks have proved that."

"Perhaps you are right." Erik glared at him. "My wife does not belong in these primitive conditions."

"It's your fault. You've educated her. She's eaten from the tree of knowledge, and there's no turning back now. I can see the defiance in her eyes. "

"You had better cease speaking about my future wife." Erik's hands curled into fists.

Despite the hint of a threat, Cameron softly continued to speak. "When I first heard of your work, I knew you didn't share my beliefs. You helped put atheist communists back into power in one country. You assisted ungodly fundamentalists in another. You did this for the money. _No._ Not even the money. The game of it. _The thrill._ I knew that. But I also knew that you would get the job done. The resolve in your eyes made me certain I'd chosen the right man to create my new country." He paused. "Until now. Those insects malfunctioned. One of the security systems in the Community failed the other night, and thank God no one tried to break in. Aren't you keeping an eye on all this technology that you love so much? I no longer feel as secure, Erik. And it's her fault, isn't it? I thought the girl would make you support my cause. She was a gift to you. But I see I was _very_ wrong. She's ruining your focus!"

"She is not ruining _anything! _Everything will happen as it is supposed to, Mr. Lourdes."

"I hope you're right, Erik. Because, if they find ever out what we've done here, you'll be right beside me at the trial. The death penalty for both of us, I bet. They will not understand that I was only trying to do God's work."

Erik laughed at this. Then, he said, "Mr. Lourdes, if we ever stand before the executioner, I will simply snap my fingers. Like this." He snapped. "And, abracadabra, we will disappear!"

"Do you think this is a joke?" Cameron sneered.

"I do sometimes. But do not worry, my friend. We will have the last laugh. And I will soon have _my_ wife. And you will have your country. And then you had better make sure that my wife is welcome in your part of the country, Mr. Lourdes. Wherever I am, my wife will be. And if she does not feel welcome, you and I _will _have quite the conversation. Make no mistake about that."

Cameron hesitated, suddenly wishing that Christine Daae would just…_disappear. _"It's a conversation worth having," he replied, looking at his hands. "Once things are more settled."

"It is time for me to leave, Mr. Lourdes. I have many more errands to attend to. Because you obviously cannot fix anything, correct?" A short silence passed. "I didn't think so. Have a good evening. I will see you tomorrow. At _my_ wedding."

* * *

"_Hi, Erik. What can I do for you today?"_

Christine gaped at the image of herself, desperately wanting her to go away. Not her. _It._ With a trembling hand, she reached out toward it. Her fingers went right through the picture. And she knew it couldn't harm her. Clothed in a simple red dress and flat black shoes, the image just continued to smile and sway, awaiting her response.

"Please tell me where you would like to go," it said again. Yet its voice, which exactly mimicked her voice, remained cheerful and patient. She wondered if this…_thing_ could help her.

Christine started to open her mouth to reply but wondered if the computer would recognize that it wasn't Erik's voice. There was no way she could call him again, and she didn't want to risk it. Instead, she found a large computer nearby the image. Did that control everything? She pressed _Enter_ on the screen and stepped back, nervously anticipating the results of her actions.

"Thank you, Erik. You're accessing the main menu. Please say or touch your next option."

There were so many choices now. Christine stared over them with a growing sense of dread, knowing she didn't have the time to go through everything. At most, she might have an hour. That would give her at least another hour to…_do what?_

She swallowed the lump in her throat. _Return to Erik's home?_ That decision depended on what she found in this creepy little room.

After hesitating, Christine pushed _People—General Information._ The computer was similar to the one in the closet that she used to find music, and so she was able to do basic navigation.

"You're entering personal files," said the computer. "Please say or type in a name. You can also choose _Browse_." Christine did the latter, watching in awe as the blue screen was filled with thousands upon thousands of tan files. She randomly chose one, vaguely recognizing the person's name from the Community. It contained the individual's basic information such as date of birth, address, and social security number. It also had the major life events—where they'd lived, attended school, worked, whom they'd married. Out of fearful curiosity, Christine typed in her own name. The file was enormous. He had every documented life event since her birth-from "born one month prematurely" to "wedding date set for September 2nd."

Were there only people from the Community in this database? Or was it…_everyone?_ After thinking for several seconds, she typed the name of a cousin she hadn't seen since she was a small child, someone who lived on the other side of the country and had no affiliation with the Community. The person's name and address popped up after several seconds, but that was it.

"General information located in network," said the other Christine. "No local files found."

The results were similar for most people on the Outside. So Erik didn't have the entire country under his fingertips-only the Community. For now.

She checked the time on the phone. Another ten minutes had passed already. It was time to move onto something else. This discovery was somewhat disturbing but not surprising or all that incriminating. And maybe Cameron had told Erik to gather this information?

_What next?_

What was _Interactions_? She hit that file with her finger and was suddenly faced with several strange options. _Songs._ _Dance. Stories._ Puzzled, she chose _Songs_ and then selected the first choice available. _Ave Maria._

Standing up straight with her chin held high, the other Christine suddenly began to sing the selected song. Flawlessly. And rather loudly. Christine gaped and quickly exited that screen. The other Christine laughed almost flirtatiously. "That was fun, Erik! Please choose another song for me to sing."

Against her better judgment, she looked over the entire list of _Interactions_, afraid of what she might find—of what Erik had programmed this awful _thing_ to do. But the most blush-worthy option on the list was simply titled _Kiss._

Christine didn't open it. Was that really all Erik had ever imagined doing with her, though? Had he come down here to kiss the empty air? Her heartstrings were tugged, but she knew it was time to move on. These were private.

She next discovered what appeared to be a kind of calendar or planner. A small smile formed on her lips as she saw that tomorrow was highlighted in a bright golden color for their wedding. September and October both contained lots of events, all tinted in orange, with the exception of one event in October that was colored in blood red. All had times and locations, but the occasions weren't described in detail. When she chose one of them, the other Christine only said, "Please access manual controls to change or turn off events."

Whatever these dates were, they were protected by extra levels of security. Maybe they were important meetings? Christine didn't have time to figure them out. With a sigh, she exited the calendar.

_What next?_ She frantically looked over everything, trying to find something that would give her more answers. Some of the files were only named as a sequence of letters or numbers, and that was no help at all. Christine hesitated and then did a search for "butterflies."

The other Christine smiled brightly. "You searched for 'butterflies.' Are you looking for scientific information on the insect or works of art with that title?"

With a frustrated sigh, Christine chose _No_ to both.

"Okay." A pause. "Are you trying to access the winged surveillance system?"

Feeling her heart jump, she quickly pushed _Yes_.

"You're entering surveillance. Please choose a name or location. System will connect with nearest device."

She typed in "Community."

"Too many results. Please narrow your search."

She hesitated and then entered a name.

"Searching for Valerius. Located," the computer quickly replied. And Christine was suddenly staring at the front of the home she had lived in for nearly two years. It was calm and quiet, the grass and flowers softly blowing in the breeze. With a soft gasp, she then searched for the Robinsons. Two views of their house appeared, one from the yard and one through a front window. Mrs. Robinson was sitting on her couch with another young woman, probably showing her dress designs. _Good Lord. Could he see everything? _Heart pounding, she typed in "Chagny." The computer seemed to take longer finding the device, but it finally gave her a distant view of a rooftop from high above. The Outside was slightly less visible than the Community, but…how was this possible?

_The butterflies…._

Her heart skipped a beat. _They could see everything…_.They weren't real living insects. They were something else. Something bad.

Remembering the voices, she walked toward the area of the room where sound was originating. While the voices seemed to be set at a much softer volume than when she'd put her ear to the floor, they were perfectly audible from this short distance. The sounds emanated from several speakers that were sitting beside a smaller computer screen. It said: _Selected recordings synchronizing with video._

She didn't understand exactly, but somehow he was collecting people's voices as well. Christine gripped the sides of her head as it all became a little maddening.

"_I don't really like how James keeps—"_

"_It's getting kind of cloudy. We should probably—"_

"_You owe me three hundred and fifty-six—"_

To save her sanity, she moved away from the noise and back to the main computer. Erik could see and hear whatever he chose. No wonder everyone thought he was a Spirit. With this sort of power, he nearly was omniscient. Anger overcame her. It wasn't right to invade people's privacy like this, was it? And then she wondered-could this system show her the past as well?

_How much time was remaining? Maybe twenty minutes? _

Taking a deep breath, she typed in "Past Surveillance Videos."

"Accessing archives," said the computer without a pause. "Enter a date, time, and location."

Christine typed in the day and approximate time to the best of her knowledge. Unsure as to how to describe the location, she only put "ceremony stage." Suddenly, Christine saw and heard herself singing at the arena. And then watched as she turned around and dropped to the ground in reaction to the gunshots. It was weird to view herself from this perspective, but it didn't really help in her search for information.

She typed in "behind the stage" for the same time and date.

The other Christine responded, "Erik, you entered 'behind the stage.' Do you want the curtain, storage area, or observation building?"

This was so frustrating! _Tick, tick, tick_ went her time. Christine sighed. It had sounded like the shots came from farther back. Maybe from above? She chose the building.

"Would you like first floor, second floor, or third floor?" asked the computer, always cheerful. Always calm and composed. Just like Erik.

Figuring she'd go in order, Christine chose the first floor. The fancy room was initially empty. But then, in the corner of the camera, she could see Raoul rushing up a set of stairs. Several men followed behind him. Then those awful gunshots again rang into the air. She was close….

Christine selected the video of the second floor and started with the room on her left. It was empty throughout the selected timeframe save for a sofa and speakers. She chose the room on the right. Her eyes widened. There were several different views of the scene as though someone had decided it was important. One camera had a giant head looking directly into the lens. _Raoul's friend._ His black eyes were wide and confused, and his mouth was agape. He'd obviously discovered the spying device.

In another angle, she watched as he struggled with several of Cameron's men, telling them to leave him alone. Then Anthony seemed to see someone in the room who made him freeze and gape in terror. _Erik._ The cameras all snapped off, and she was afraid that the video had been erased. But the audio still continued to play. Christine nearly fell apart as she finally heard the truth unfold.

_"What the hell _are_ you?! __Please…__."_

"_He knows what he should not know…." _Erik's voice was clear.

_"Oh dear,"_ said Cameron.

_"Quiet. The boy is wired." _

"_Please,"_ Anthony begged. "_We were just here to look around. I swear! Let me go. I'll get out of here. I won't tell anyone. I promise! Please!"_

"_We can't let him leave,"_ said Cameron. _"What a mess…."_ A pause. _"Do you want to…handle this in your way? Quietly."_

"_This will never be quiet. It needs to appear as though there was no choice. Have your men do it. Not execution style. I will make sure it appeared inevitable, and we will be cleared of any wrongdoing."_

"_Yes. I see. The blame will fall on them…."_

"_No!"_ Anthony started to scream.

Christine clutched her ears as the gunshots rang out. She gagged as bile ran up into her mouth. Something inside her snapped. And then she pushed _Stop _and exited the screen. Days later, she would be angry at herself for not attempting to record the entire exchange. But, at that moment, her brain was nearly numb. All she could think about was getting out of there.

The other Christine merely smiled, unaffected by the nightmare video. "You're exiting surveillance archive. Where would you like to go next?"

She had been in the room fifty minutes. A part of her innocence died during that time, and she felt its ghost pass through her, leaving goose bumps on her flesh. It was time to go. With a shaking finger, she pressed _Off. _

"Goodbye, Erik!" exclaimed the other Christine with a short wave. The screen went black. She…_it _faded into nothingness.

Christine again wished she could do the same, just disappear and not have to face the decision before her. Either way, she felt doomed and hopeless. She numbly walked to the elevator and started to press the up arrow. On her left, she noticed a black door for the first time and cautiously glanced inside. _Stairs._ Probably in case of an emergency or an ambush-Erik wouldn't allow himself to be trapped down here with only one exit. Not wanting to be confined in the small square space either, she chose the stairs, racing up them, her feet coming down hard against the rubber and linoleum. Out of breath, she reached the top and saw a door. With a shaking hand, she grabbed the silver knob and twisted it, now faced with the winding tunnels. The door was painted black to blend in with the darkness, and it immediately locked behind her as it closed. She never would have noticed it. No one would.

Only at the top did she realize that she'd left the phone down there. For a second, she felt a chill of horror. He would find it.

But it didn't matter. There were probably all kinds of signs that she'd been down there. Surveillance videos and a search history…. Erik would know, and he would be furious. She would be trapped down here forever when he discovered this betrayal- no more alive or relevant than the _other _Christine.

But that didn't matter either. Because she wasn't going back. There wasn't even time to return to his home and retrieve an extra pair of clothing. In fact, the thought of going back down there made her sick to her stomach.

It hadn't been just Anthony. From the way Cameron spoke, it was very obvious that there had been others who had even died directly at Erik's hands. She remembered Joseph Buquet's strange disappearance and wondered….

And knew.

_Murderer. _

Her stomach clenched, and a sob escaped her throat. So many different feelings surged through her veins that she couldn't even begin to sort them out. Fear. Anger. Hurt. Despair for something she'd never have back. And there was no time to think about any of it, not if she cared about her freedom…or even her life. _If it came down to it, would you kill me, too, Erik? _

"Open," she said when she arrived at the second elevator. To her relief, it obeyed. And soon she found herself in the theater, the last rays of evening sunlight streaming through the cracks and broken ceiling, welcoming her to the surface. The air was quiet except for a single cicada; not even the birds were tweeting now. She slowly made her way outside and into the warm air, very aware of the weapon in her pocket. At least she had that. The wind blew against her hair, and she inhaled as her body prepared to fly. Christine raced to the top of the nearest hill and glanced at her surroundings. In the distance, she could see the dark outlines of buildings and a few artificial lights. It was probably a ten to fifteen minute journey to the inner city. And then the real horror would begin. No longer would she be safe.

"Go," she whispered to herself. "Go Christine. You can make it. You can do this. You have to. Do you want to be a prisoner for the rest of your life? Do you want to be married tomorrow to the Angel of Death? Then _go_!" And with a deep intake of breath, she began to run. Adrenaline gave her limitless speed as her flight response guided her forward. She didn't notice the pain in her legs and feet as they came down hard against the ground. She didn't notice the bitter bug that found its way into her open mouth. She ran and ran and ran.

Into the city finally. The dark and broken city. And that's where she stopped for a moment to breathe. Sallow, sunken faces passed by her. People sitting on the street corners wearing torn jeans and t-shits. Starving animals digging in trashcans. Broken bottles and stained paper littering the cracked streets. Ducking into the back alleys, she began to run again. Until she hit something…or someone. "Oomph." The wind was knocked out of her, and she stumbled backwards, gazing upwards in terror.

A skinny man with few teeth and an unshaven face smiled down at her. In the shadows, he looked ghastly. "Hey beautiful. What are you doing out here by yourself, baby? Haven't seen a cute thing like you in years. Need some company?" A rough, grimy hand came to rest on her shoulder.

Trembling, Christine reached into her pocket and found the weapon. She pointed it at the man and ordered, "Fire." The object vibrated, and then there was a flash of white light.

The man screamed and lurched backward as his body was zapped with electricity. Christine ran forward but checked back once to see him sitting on the ground, stunned and looking back and forth in terror. Erik was wrong; she did care whether he was alive. She didn't want to kill anyone.

Even before she started running, Christine knew exactly where she wanted to go. There was one person whom she could trust in this horrible world. But how would she get there? How far away was he? And also-Christine slowed down to a jog and knew that Erik would know exactly where she was going. He had last time.

"Now what?" she whispered to herself. She heard murmurs and radios in the distance. A dog barked. A baby wailed. And a panic attack crept up on her as nighttime set in. Erik would know she was gone by now. She didn't know whether that realization or her surroundings were more terrifying. Christine hugged her arms to her chest and turned in a circle. _Help me. Please someone help me._

_I need to find a map. _Even if she couldn't go to his house, even if it wasn't safe, maybe she could think of something. Vacant eyes stared at her as she walked by, people sleeping in the streets and alleyways on dirty blankets. At every noise behind her, Christine's heart nearly stopped.

Finally, she found a map near a bus stop in a relatively better section of the city. A sort of directory. The paper was covered in dust and faded, but she managed to read it. From driving around with both Erik and Raoul, Christine was somewhat familiar with her surroundings. Raoul's gated neighborhood was about ten miles, which would be at least a three hour walking distance.

And Erik would find her there anyway.

But then she realized there was one other hope. One other place. It was much closer than Raoul's home, only an hour or so away. And maybe…maybe Erik wouldn't think of it. Maybe she'd have a day to form a plan.

But could she trust them? She knew they wouldn't hurt her. But would they keep her secrets? Then again, she didn't even have to tell them everything…. They could help her contact Raoul. At some level, they would even understand. _Maybe._

It was all she had. Her mind and body were too exhausted to come up with a better idea.

Christine heard a crunching sound behind her and jumped into the air, whirling around and expecting to see two angry yellow eyes. But there was no one.

"Mommy?" She looked down. A little boy, no more than three or four years old, with a dirt-covered face was staring up at her. He wore nothing but an oversized white t-shirt with the name of a beer company printed on the front. "Mommy?" he asked again.

"I'm not your mommy," she whispered, giving his shoulder a squeeze as she walked by. "I'm sorry." She wished she could help him. She wished she could save all of these people.

But, right now, she had to save herself.

* * *

Raoul stared at his leather suitcases and sighed at the thought of his life being packed up and shipped away. While he was ready to leave, this country had still been home for his entire life. He felt as though he were being driven out against his will but knew of no way to stop it. Anthony's death still haunted him, and he completely blamed himself for coming up with the stupid plan. So he had no more plans. He had nothing.

His mom still hadn't agreed to leave the country, and this was infuriating Phillip. Raoul had also been trying to get a hold of Meg on the phone for the past couple of days, but she hadn't answered. He really wanted to fly both her and Caroline out of here as well; maybe he'd stop by their house tomorrow. At least he could save a couple people….

Raoul thought of Christine, but there was never any light at the end of that tunnel. How would he ever get to her now? Any more attempts to break into the Community would result in him being arrested and imprisoned. And maybe she didn't even want to be rescued…. She was so hard to understand.

Depression weighed heavily upon him that evening. He lay on his back with his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling, pondering the direction his life was soon going to take. His phone rang, and Raoul glanced at the screen. He quickly answered. "Meg?"

"Hi, Raoul." Her voice sounded very strange, hesitant and distant. She was probably still mad at him.

"Hey! I've been trying to get a hold of you. I have something I really need to talk to you about."

"Yeah. Me, too. Could you come over?"

He checked the clock. "Right now? It's a little late. Past curfew. Maybe tomorrow?"

"No. Um." Her voice shook slightly. "My mother is really ill, and I'm scared. I don't think it can wait until tomorrow."

"Oh, Meg. Yeah. I'm so sorry. I'll be right over." _Screw curfew._

An eerie feeling settled over him as he grabbed his keys and headed outside; the air was warm and heavy. Raoul hopped into his car and remembered that the gas was low. He had enough to drive the short distance to his mother's house. She rarely left the home and never minded when he borrowed her small black car. Judy would, however, care that he was out past curfew and facing the possibility of getting in trouble with the law again. So he said nothing to her, inexplicably feeling that he needed to go to Meg's as soon as possible.

When he arrived, Raoul knocked twice at the Giry's door, and Meg immediately opened it. Caroline was standing behind her. And she looked perfectly healthy.

"I thought you were really sick," said Raoul, blinking in surprise.

Meg yanked him inside by the arm and shut the door, quickly twisting the deadbolt. "I had to get you here."

"What? That's a little….Well…okay." He awkwardly laughed and gave her a quick hug, not angry at all for some reason. "I did have something important to talk to you about."

"Yours can wait," said Meg, her expression almost frightened. Her voice was tense. Something was wrong—far beyond their uncertain feelings for each other.

Caroline also had lines of worry around her eyes. "My goodness," she murmured. "What a situation."

"What's going on?" he asked, looking between them. "Is everything okay?"

"You'll see…." Grabbing his wrist, Meg slowly led him into the back room. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, a worn purple bedspread and a couple of old wooden dressers. "It's okay," she softly called out into the emptiness. "It's Raoul."

"Who are you talking-?" The door to the closet creaked open very slowly. A blonde head poked out along with two terrified blue eyes. He softly gasped. Christine stumbled out toward him, her eyes still wide with fear and her pale face dirty. She was dressed modernly. And she looked as though she'd just been dragged through the streets by her hair.

"Raoul…." His name came out like a sob.

"Oh my God. What are you doing here?" he softly asked, the sight of her, even in that state, making him feel a rare spark of joy. "Christine, what...happened to you?"

"Raoul." She was obviously exhausted and nearly tripped over the carpet as she came toward him. He quickly caught her before she hit the ground and then held her as another sob shook her body. "I've put you all in so much danger," she whispered in a tear choked voice. "But I didn't know…what else to do…."

"I've got you," he said, holding her tightly. Her tense body only relaxed slightly in his arms. "We're going to be fine. Whatever it is, it'll be okay, Chris. I swear. But you have to tell me what's going on."

She nodded against his chest. "I will. But, first, we have to be safe. We have to run and hide. We don't have much time. He sees _everything._"

"Cameron?" he asked, trying to make sense of this. "Cameron sees everything?"

"No." A pause. "Erik. Erik can see _everything_."

It was a name he would soon come to hate. At that first moment, though, it was simply another name. "Who's Erik?"

"Erik is…_the Spirit_."


	20. Chapter 20

**Loved the feedback on the last chapter. So happy that you guys are enjoying the suspense as it's a blast to write. As you reach the end, please remember we still have quite a ways to go. **

**Read and Review!**

The rest of her journey to the Girys' home was as terrifying as the beginning of it. Her surroundings became less frightening as she entered areas where the people appeared more depressed than emaciated or under the influence of cheap stimulants. They barely gave her a second glance, heads down as they dealt with the problems in their lives. The terror came from the knowledge that Erik had to be gaining on her. At any moment, he could pop out from behind a door or building, and that would be it. She tried not to think of the rage that would be in those yellow eyes.

Even in her fear, though, anger was bubbling, and that was what fueled her escape more than anything. Anger at the way he'd pretended to be a Spirit during the first few years that she might have been able to escape the Community. And then, once Erik had revealed himself, he'd taken all her choices from her. And then he'd lied, probably more times than she even knew. _How many had he killed? _

But maybe she was angrier at herself than anything else—for believing the lies and letting him control her with them for so long. For nearly coming to…._No. She couldn't think about these things now. It'd make her crazy. She just had to run!_

After taking a wrong turn that nearly left her in a panic, she finally recognized the front of the Giry's dilapidated apartments. To her utter relief, a light shone from one of the front windows. She threw herself at the door and knocked. Meg answered wearing a t-shirt and checkered blue pajama pants.

"Christine?" she asked. There was clear surprise on her face along with some negative emotion that Christine didn't understand. _Then again, I did act completely stupid the last time I was around her. Believing in the magical Spirit and all that._

"Please can I come in," she pled, out of breath.

"Um, yeah," Meg said, stepping aside and glancing her up and down. "Are you okay?"

"What's going on?" Caroline now stepped into the tiny entryway, a white dishrag in her hands. "Oh. Christine? What are you doing here, dear? Aren't you still part of the Community?" Her expression was warmer than Meg's, and so Christine directed her attention to the older woman.

"I can't explain," she whispered. "I won't stay here long. I promise. But I'm in a lot of trouble and need to hide for a little while."

"Who are you in trouble with?" Meg asked.

"With…the Community." She glanced behind her and at the windows to make sure there were no lingering shadows.

"Oh, no," said Caroline, putting a hand over her mouth. "But won't the Spirit protect you? Don't you talk to Him?"

"No. He won't protect me at all."

"Should we call the police or something like that?" asked Meg after casting her mother an irritated glance.

She rapidly shook her head. "No. I don't trust them. And I don't want to stay here too long and get you both hurt. Could you call Raoul? But don't tell him I'm here on the phone. Just…get him here. Please. He may be the only one who can help."

Again, she saw a frown on Meg's face that she didn't understand. "I…."

"Call him, Meg," urged Caroline. "Maybe he can help!"

Meg sighed but nodded. "Okay. I'll just say that you're sick, Mom."

"Thank you," Christine whispered. "Thank you so much." She felt exposed out here in the bright lights of the living area. "Is there somewhere I could hide?"

Meg glanced at her, genuine concern finally reaching her eyes. "You really are in trouble, huh? Wow. Yeah, you can go in the closet in the other room. I'll let you know when Raoul gets here."

"Thank you so much!"

It seemed like she waited in that tiny space forever, the smell of dust and laundered clothes mingling together to create a grossly sweet odor. Someone knocked on the door, and she nearly had a heart attack. Not that she believed Erik would actually knock, but her nerves were shot by that point. Even after she heard Meg gently tell her that it was okay to come out, Christine didn't open the door until Raoul's voice was clearly audible. She literally fell into his arms—into warmth and safety.

He stared down at her with a bewildered expression after she told him that Erik was the Spirit. She'd promised Erik she would never divulge his name; the night was going to be an unending chain of broken promises. "Okay, Christine…. " Her friend cleared his throat. "I get that there's something really weird going on. I believe you. Anthony saw something, too. But when you say Spirit, do you mean just…like a voice. Or a light? What exactly _is _the Spirit?"

"He's—" She glanced at the doorway and saw the Girys watching, not sure if she wanted anyone else to hear this conversation.

Raoul followed her gaze and softly asked, "Could you give us a moment? Please?" They slowly backed up and disappeared, obviously disturbed. She and Raoul needed to leave soon to avoid endangering them. That is, if he would help her. "Christine? What is the Spirit?"

"He's a man," she said.

"What?"

"A man. A man named Erik."

"And…this one _man _does all the creepy illusions?"

"Yes." She was so exhausted that only his arms were holding her up. But she knew their journey that night was so very far from being over….

Raoul laughed and seemed to relax. "One man? Christine, that's great! That's no big deal. Here I was starting to believe that some…supernatural thing was really going on." He chuckled again. "But just one guy…."

She rapidly backed away from him and the embrace, wide awake now as she realized her mistake "No. No, you don't understand. You can't think of Erik like that. He may be a man, but he's not…like anyone else. I can't explain it. Sometimes he seems more like a spirit. He's a genius. He's fast and silent. And he's very, very dangerous."

"This is still one man, though. You can tell us where he's at. I'll go get Phillip and—"

"You want to know where he's _at_? He's looking for me! Right now! If he finds out you're with me, that's going to be it. We need to run away!"

Raoul frowned. "Wait. Why is he looking so hard for you? Isn't this Cameron's guy? Does he think you're going to rat him out?"

She buried her face in her hands and shook her head. "Oh…. He loves me," she whispered. "More than you could ever imagine." With a soft moan, she thrust her left hand out. "Raoul…. I was supposed to…_marry_ him tomorrow."

"_What?"_ Mouth falling open, he stared at the ring in near horror. His next words came out jumbled. "Was—was…it like an arranged…c-cult thing…?"

"No. _Yes._ I don't know!" She threw up her hands. "It doesn't matter because there's no way I can do that now! Not after…." She looked at the time. "We can't stay here and talk. We've stayed here long enough as it is. I'll tell you more later. But we have to keep moving until we're far away. In another country even!"

He rapidly nodded. "All right. I'm supposed to leave within a week after what happened with Cameron. The Girys and maybe my mother are about all set to get out, too. I'm sure Phillip could-"

"I don't have a week," she whispered, taking his hand. "I don't even have a day. But, Raoul, if you can't help me, then I'll just keeping running. I understand if you can't; you have family and everything. I don't want anything to happen to you, and —"

"Christine." He put both hands on her shoulders. "Of course I'll help you. I'll go anywhere with you if it means keeping you safe. That's all I ever wanted to do since we were kids. I just don't understand how one man is that dangerous-"

"He is. And as long as I'm with you, we're both in danger. There's no time to tell anyone or make everything else right. Not until we're safe."

Raoul slowly nodded. "All right. I believe you. I lost one friend because I underestimated these people. I'm not going to lose another. I'll get you to safety, and then we'll figure something out. You'll tell me everything then?"

"Yes," she replied. "When we're safe."

"Then let's go." They stepped out of the room together. The Girys were standing in the entryway looking bewildered, and Raoul gave them a frantic and apologetic look. "We have to go. _Right now._ You guys can come and I'll try to get you out, too, but there's no time to pack. I'm so sorry."

Caroline shook her head. "No. You two go now. She's in trouble. We'd only slow you down. I'm sure Meg and I will be fine." Her eyes lit up. "Oh. Wait!" Caroline ran off into the other room and returned with two objects, a black wig and glasses with black frames. "When I was still terrified that the Community might come after me, after I was forced out, I wore these for awhile. Here's a rubber band, too. Just put your hair in a bun and put the wig over it. The glasses are fake; you'll be able to see out of them." Caroline turned to Meg. "And get her another pair of clothes and some shoes. You two are about the same size, I think." Meg nodded and ran off, returning with a pair of dark khaki pants, small white t-shirt, and worn green tennis shoes.

Christine took the items and hugged Caroline. "Thank you so much. For everything tonight. I-" Suddenly, they both felt a vibration emanate from the middle of her body.

"What was that?" asked Caroline, stepping back and looking down.

Christine reached into her pocket and took out the weapon. "It's something I was given for protection. It doesn't kill people. Just…." She paused. "But that blue light wasn't on before." Cold horror again fell upon her. "Oh, God. What if this is now being tracked somehow? Oh, no….Oh no, no, no, no."

"Shit," Raoul whispered, his face turning a little white. She hoped he finally understood what they were facing. "Let's get out of here!"

"I can't leave it here. He'll come to this home!" The wide-eyed fear on Caroline's and Meg's faces said that they agreed with the statement.

Raoul swallowed. "You're right. Take it. We'll get rid of it somewhere good." He turned to Meg and Caroline. "Thank you both for everything. I swear I'll find a way to help you guys soon."

"Get her out of here," said Meg, her eyes sad as she quickly hugged him.

They bolted out the door, into the warm air of early September, and to his car. Raoul jumped into the driver's seat and started the engine with a roar, the tires squealing as he accelerated forward. Christine clutched the sides of the seats, heart pounding wildly. "Whose car is this?" she softly asked once they were safely on the road.

"My mom's. Mine was out of gas."

"That's good…I think." After managing to gain some composure, she balled up her hair into the rubber band and put the wig over her head. The black strands curled just slightly below her chin, much shorter than her real hair. Next, she slid on the glasses. Unfolding the mirror from the ceiling, Christine stared at her new self.

Raoul also glanced at her. "Ha! There you go. I'm not sure I'd recognize you. Except for those blue eyes."

She weakly laughed. The light still shone from the weapon, and her stomach turned. They were a moving target now. "Where are you going?"

"We're getting rid of everything that you got from that…from _him_. So he can't track us. Can you change clothes really fast?"

"Um…yeah." Raoul turned his attention to the road to give her privacy. Past caring about modesty anyway, she began to pull off her shirt and wriggle out of her jeans. She slid the khaki pants on and then slipped the white t-shirt over her head. Meg's clothes were much tighter than anything she usually wore but not unbearably so. Last, she switched shoes.

Jerking them both forward, Raoul squealed to a stop at the side of the road. She looked out the window. They were on a long arched iron bridge; no other cars were visible. He opened his door and hopped out, and Christine quickly did the same. The metal structure creaked below them, and the little light from the crescent moon reflected on the rushing water. "The water might destroy that thing. Or, even better, it'll look like you're moving in the direction of the current," Raoul explained. "Maybe it'll throw him off of us."

She nodded in agreement, quickly hurling the weapon into the stream, watching as the blue light faded away beneath the shallow waves. Next, she tossed in the clothing and shoes, although Christine highly doubted that those would be monitored. Erik had no idea what she would be wearing that day. Raoul glanced at her. "Is there anything else you have that could be tracked?"

The recorder and phone were long gone. "No. Well…." She inhaled and looked at her hand, a shiver running through her. "The ring." She examined it. "But it looks…so ordinary…."

"Are you sure?"

She honestly wasn't. He stared at it as though it might bite him. "Oh, Raoul…." she whispered, her heart becoming terribly heavy. "I don't know if I can…." Christine removed it from her finger as tears ran down her cheeks. Cold air rushed against the empty spot on her skin. "I was engaged for three months…."

"By choice?" She just stared at him. "Christine, we both know what happened to you in that stupid cult wasn't right. Forced marriage? _Ugh._ That's like medieval. Get rid of that awful thing, and let's get out of here!" By the sound of his voice, Raoul was becoming as nervous as she was.

She held her hand back as though preparing to throw the ring. But she couldn't do it. It stuck to her fingers as though glued to her flesh. And so Christine handed the tiny object to Raoul instead, gritting her teeth as he hurled it into the river. She shivered as it made a tiny but audible splash and then disappeared beneath the moving water, an ache consuming her heart as she stared down into the black mass. She could almost hear an anguished howl within the light breeze. _What if he thought she drowned?_

"Let's go," her friend whispered, breaking her from the trance. They returned to the car, speeding forward once more. "All right," he muttered to himself. "Okay. I'm going to call Phillip and see if he can get us out of here really fast."

"I don't think you should use your cell phone," she replied, remembering the voice collection. "Or mention my name."

"Phil's the only way we're getting out tonight, Christine. But I see what you're saying." Raoul hesitated and then pulled over again. "Here. I'm going to run into this convenience store and pay the guy a hundred bucks to use his phone. You stay and…maybe keep your head down."

She nodded, hunching over and holding her breath as he left her in the darkness. About five minutes ticked by in the silence. Raoul finally returned with the traces of an exhausted smile. "I got a hold of him. Told him that Caroline was seriously sick, and so I'm trying to get her and Meg out of the country as fast as possible to get her treatment. Also said that I'd been receiving serious death threats on the phone from Cameron's people. So I made this sound like an all-around emergency. He's going to meet us about ten miles away with some documents and hopefully a plan of escape. He wasn't happy, but he's doing it."

"Will I be able to pass for Meg?"

"He said he was going to track down a government flight. They won't ask a lot of questions. And you look harmless."

"I wish I were _harmless_. I hate putting everyone in danger like this," she murmured.

"None of this is your fault." Raoul shook his head and continued to drive through a more sparsely populated section of the city. Every so often, she would get on her knees and glance behind them, making sure they weren't being followed. He slowed down and looked around. "There we go." Near the gas station where they were meeting Phillip, he parked inside what looked to be an abandoned brick carwash. The shadows from the old metallic equipment settled over them, distorting everything. But they were hidden. She took a deep breath. "Can you tell me anything else while we wait?" he softly asked.

"I don't even know where to begin…."

"The beginning?" He nervously laughed and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze."Whatever you can, Chris. I'm still confused about how this happened."

She stared out the window, thinking back. "You know, for most of my life there, I hated the Community. I wanted out so badly, and I plotted my escape for when I turned eighteen. Sometimes I even thought about finding you."

Raoul smiled. "I thought about you a lot, too."

"A couple years ago, I sang for Cameron's assembly. I think my father thought it would help me find a husband or something; he was sick and worried about me. I wasn't exactly the perfect daughter…. Anyway, after that assembly, Cameron told me that the Spirit wanted to speak with me. And so I went into this little room and…heard the most beautiful voice in the world…." She paused. "So I talked to it and sang for it, thinking the Spirit had really come from God. I thought maybe everything Cameron said was true…that the Community was chosen…that I was chosen by the Spirit for some higher calling."

"I remember. But you didn't think anything seemed…wrong with that situation?"

"Maybe. But you have to understand that everyone believed in the Spirit by then; the illusions were convincing. And it really felt like some powerful presence was there watching me all the time. And then his voice, Raoul. I can't explain it, but it didn't sound mortal. "

"Actually, I think I heard it."

She glanced at him in surprise. "Really? When?"

He looked a little forlorn. "The day Anthony was killed. Just for a second. It was pretty horrifying at the time. I can understand why you didn't think it came from a human."

She nodded. "But the night that I disappeared from your house…that's when _everything_ changed."

"What happened?"

"I woke up in…_his_ house."

"Oh my God. What did-" He stopped speaking, and they both glanced up in alarm as headlights washed over them from outside.

"Who is it?" she sickly whispered.

Raoul looked prepared to shift into drive and speed away. Then, he squinted and grinned in relief. "Phil's here!"

"Please be safe." She nervously looked over her shoulder for any visitors.

He gave her hand a squeeze. "I'll be right back."

* * *

Raoul had never been so happy to see his older brother standing and glaring at him beneath a streetlamp near the closed gas station. His hair was ruffled, and his normally pressed clothes were disheveled. "This had better be damned good. Do you know what time it is?"

"It is. Caroline is sick." He repositioned them in the shadows so that they were less visible.

"Well, some of the hospitals are still functional. Why didn't you try taking her there first? We could have footed the bill. It would have been better than this craziness."

"Trust me. I know what I'm doing this time." He placed a hand on his Phillip's shoulder and leaned in, whispering, "Did you bring the documents? Can you get us out of here? _Fast?_"

He sighed and held out a manila folder and an overnight bag with a change of clothes and a few basic necessities. When he and Christine had finally found sanctuary, Raoul would have his family send him the rest of his things. "If you rush—and by that I mean drive like a maniac, I can get you out in two hours. It's a small jet with a couple of envoys heading to Ottawa. They were supposed to leave now, but I convinced them to wait for you. They'll meet you right out front. You want to go somewhere else, you'll have to give it another couple of days. That's the best I can do."

The city was a little too close to the U.S. border for Raoul's liking, but it was better than nothing. "Ottawa it is for now," he murmured, taking the folder. It felt light in his hands. "If that's the fastest."

"It is. You're pretty much getting emergency political asylum up there. But at least it looks legit after what happened with Cameron; everyone thinks you tried to kill him, and a lot of people are disappointed you didn't."

"That's…great," Raoul muttered. "And uh…she's good to go, too? They won't ask too many questions?"

"Yeah. They know women are with you. Megan and Caroline? They'll be refugees for the sake of simplicity. This crap is seriously under the radar, so don't ask me to do it again."

Raoul continued to whisper, "I need you to do me one more big favor. After you leave here, get Meg and her mother out of their place and move them to a nicer apartment in our neighborhood. Just have them lay low and take care of them. Make sure they're safe."

"_What?_ I thought they-"

"Sh! You do this for me, and I'll call you with really good information soon. I'll tell you everything when I can. It might be enough to take down the entire Community."

"Why can't you do that now?" he snapped. Still, his eyes widened with interest.

"Because I have to get out of here asap. That's all I care about right now. Someone's safety. I won't do anything else until that's certain."

"I could get you more protection."

"No, Phil. It would never be good enough. I have to leave. _Tonight._" He looked his brother squarely in the eye."

"Holy…. I had the feeling this wasn't really about getting anyone to a hospital." Phillip shook his head but looked genuinely concerned. "Jesus, you're in way over your head. Call me if you have any problems. And call me anyway so I know what the hell you're doing…."

Raoul nodded. "Tell Mom I love her and that I'm sorry I couldn't say goodbye. You'll probably have to come get her car." Phillip rolled his eyes. "If it gets bad here again, get her and the Girys out of the country."

"I will. You take care, little bro."

They briefly hugged, and Raoul felt a tug of sorrow as he left his family behind. But one glance at Christine's tormented face hiding behind fake black hair and glasses, and he knew he was making the right decision. He wouldn't let anything happen to her. He wouldn't let the Community or that evil…_man _ever touch her again.

"Ready to navigate?" Raoul asked with a smile after he climbed inside. He handed her a little map to the small airport.

She looked at it. "That's kind of far."

"Yep. But I'll drive fast. Cops don't really care about speeding anymore. Too many other things going on."

"No, it's good that it's far. The farther we are from the Community…." Christine huddled down into the seat and crossed her arms. She closed her eyes and inhaled.

For awhile they drove in silence. He was unable to read her expression as she stared out the window and into the darkness—the wig, glasses, and shadows making her look like an entirely different person. "So okay." He hesitantly decided to continue their conversation. "You woke up in his house? Then what?"

* * *

With a heavy heart, Christine told him of her initial captivity and her mind numbing fear in those first days. Raoul shook his head, and she could see clear anger in his eyes. She didn't really want or need that. All she desired was some semblance of freedom—some peace of mind. But, of course Raoul would be angry at this. She'd chosen to place him into the role of her protector that night, and his reactions couldn't be helped.

"That twisted mother fu-"

"Please Raoul."

"Did he ever hurt you?"

"No," she murmured. "Not at all. For the most part, Erik was a gentleman. Even if we'd…."She gulped. "Gotten married. Um, he said he wouldn't ask anything of me that I didn't want. It was like he only wanted me there. With him…."

"Yeah. I'm sure this guy just wanted to hold your hand."

"Raoul…."

"Sorry. I'm so angry right now. If I would have known this, I would have brought the army to Cameron's door. I mean it. I still might."

She was about to tell him that Erik lived nowhere near the Community but stopped herself. Raoul would certainly want to know the exact location of Erik's hideout. And while she desired to escape the darkness of that world, Christine also didn't want Erik to be hurt-or worse. Her feelings were so muddled that it almost gave her a headache.

Hoping to calm Raoul down a little bit, she talked about how Erik had educated her, adding, "I'm not sure if I would have gotten away from Cameron if not for that. I think that's why being with Erik seemed liberating. Compared with the Community, I did have a certain amount of freedom. To learn things at least."

"That is weird. Is he a religious fundamentalist?"

"No. Not at all."

Raoul frowned. "What about Cameron? Is that an act, too?"

"I think Cameron believes what he says," she said after a moment. "He really thinks his Community is what God wants."

"So Erik is helping because…?"

"I don't know. Except…." She hesitated, not sure if she wanted to share this part.

"What?"

It was too late to go back now. "Erik wears a mask. I wasn't sure why at first. Just for a disguise, I thought. But…." She swallowed. "His face is-it looks like a skeleton face. It looks like someone sewed pieces of paper on a skull. He doesn't even have a nose…."

"_Really?"_

"Yes. I'd never seen anything like it."

"That's horrifying." Raoul paused. "But what does it have to do with him helping Cameron?"

The answer taunted her from the edge of her mind, but she couldn't quite grasp it. "I don't know."

_Erik wanted to…what? Control people? Punish them? He wanted her to be his queen, manipulating her with sweet lies and beautiful music, while he dominated everyone else with fear? And that was why she had run. She wanted none of that. There was no joy or sanity or hope in such a world. As she told Erik in their time together, all she wanted was warmth and honesty….She had meant that. _

Raoul was staring at her in confusion. But suddenly something hurt so badly near her heart that Christine could say nothing except, "I'm so tired, and it's not coming out right. Can I tell you later?"

"Yeah. Definitely. All I want to do now is get you out of here. Sleep, if you want to, Chris. I'll wake you when we get there."

Her body ached to slumber, but her mind remained alert as she continued to cast nervous glances toward the rearview mirrors. Raoul did the same. "Almost there," he eventually said with relief as they passed a faded green sign that alerted them to the smaller airport. Tall lights came into view, and a small concrete building sat out front. A wide open space marked the landing field.

"When does the plane leave?" she asked, checking the time.

"Ten minutes. We'll make it." He parked the car, grabbed the folder and his bag, and they raced forward to the lighted aircraft. On the front of the white jet, in fancy yellow cursive letters, was the word _Apollo_, probably the name of a company. The pilot, a middle-aged man with a short black beard, met them out front. He wore a white name tag on the front of his navy blue suit and also appeared to be some type of government official. "Morning," said Raoul, trying to catch his breath. "Or is it night still? Sorry we kept you waiting. Heh."

"Forget all the political mumbo jumbo; I bet you two or eloping," he said with a deep voice and a friendly smile. "Is that why we're up so damn late? Young love?"

"Hah. Something like that…."

"Is another person coming? Someone was sick or something?"

Christine's eyes widened; she hoped they wouldn't begin to get caught up in all the lies.

"Caroline couldn't make it," Raoul replied, his voice steady. "Too sick to travel. Just me and Meg today."

"I see. Well, all right then. You got all your documents? Something been arranged for you once you get there?"

"We got 'em." He started to open the folder.

"No, I know who you are. Spoke to your brother hours ago. And you look like your father. We're good, Chagny. Let's get out of here. Just waiting for our first officer to get out of the bathroom."

Raoul continued to maintain a calm outward appearance as they entered. Three other men sat in plush red seats, all dressed in black suits and solid-colored ties. Christine awkwardly glanced at them and swallowed. Thankfully, Raoul seemed to be used to these kinds of people and greeted them with handshakes.

"There's Raoul," said a man with a blond handlebar moustache and sparse hair of the same color. "I read about what you did. I was damned happy to wait for you, too." He leaned in and whispered, "Too bad you couldn't shoot the bastard. All of us would have cheered." He made his index finger and thumb into a gun and pretended to fire it. "_Pow._ Am I right?"

"Eh," said Raoul with a shrug, obviously a little uncomfortable. "We do what we can."

The same man glanced at her. "This your lady?"

"Um, yeah. This is Megan Giry, and she's my…girlfriend."

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Megan." He winked at her.

"Nice to meet you, too." Christine weakly smiled. She sat in the nearest empty seat, clutching Raoul's hand tightly as he sat beside her. "Go, go, go. Please _go_," she whispered to herself. Raoul's jaw was clenched, and she could tell that he was thinking the exact same thing.

When the younger first officer came out of the bathroom, pushing the door a little too hard so that it loudly crashed into the wall, she nearly flew out of her seat. It made her sick when she thought of the possible consequences of all her actions that evening—running away, watching the ring disappear into a river, and she was now sitting next to Raoul and clutching his hand as though it were the only thing keeping her alive. _Horror, horror._

"Ugh. Thanks everyone for keeping me up these hours," said the first officer, stretching his arms over his head. "Especially you, kid," he joked to Raoul.

"We're giving you work," the man with the moustache replied. "Not something to be taken for granted these days."

"True. Well, I've had coffee, so I'll get you there in one piece." He chuckled. "Not sure about Bill in there, though. He's trying to kick his caffeine addiction, so watch out!" They all laughed.

She wished they would _shut up_ and _go_. Her very presence was putting everyone around her in danger.

But soon the engines started with a loud whir. She held her breath and gripped his hand even more tightly, squeezing her eyes shut as the aircraft began to move forward. When the jet finally took off, Christine released a soft sob. Looking down one last time, her heart nearly stopped as she thought she saw the outlines of a tall, eerie shadow in the darkness far below. But it was probably her paranoid imagination.

She could hear Raoul exhale. The men chatted with each other, and he chimed in every so often mostly for appearances, she guessed. But Christine only rested her head on his shoulder in a daze. The last twelve or so hours were beyond her comprehension. She was in a dream. And she was desperately trying to stop it from becoming a nightmare.

"You can sleep," Raoul murmured to her. "We're safe, I think."

Even now, she didn't think she could. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw _his_ eyes. She felt his pain and his rage. _You didn't give me a choice, Erik. Or the truth. About anything. You know that. You know why I'm gone. Forgive me…and let me go. And I'll let you go. I have to…._Eventually, she must have nodded off because the next thing Christine felt was Raoul gently shaking her shoulder. "We're almost there…."

She sat up with a soft gasp. The jet soon landed with a thud, shaking them. But it wasn't until they were both standing in an international airport, preparing to follow a woman to a customs and immigration desk, that it really hit them both. The lights were bright, and the few people they could see had healthy glows to their faces and life in their eyes. It was a new world. "We made it!" Raoul exclaimed with a grin, raising his fist in the air. "Woohoo! _Yes! _We did it!"

She weakly laughed, tears falling down her cheeks. "I can't believe it!" she managed to hoarsely exclaim. "I can't believe it! I can't believe it!"

He picked her up and spun her around in the air. And, during that moment of elated relief, Christine received her first real kiss. He leaned forward with his hand still on her waist, her head tilted upward, and their lips touched for several seconds. The woman glanced at them and smirked. An unsure grin formed on Raoul's face, and he laughed and scratched his head. "Heh. I'm sorry. I'm just so…damn happy right now."

Her lips tingled warmly from the kiss. Honestly, she wasn't even sure what _happy_ meant anymore. But the certainty in Raoul's eyes made her heartbeat almost return to normal again. She couldn't have asked for a better friend that night. She really owed him everything.

Her wig had become skewed when Raoul picked her up. She quickly readjusted it.

"You could probably take it off," he whispered. "We could explain that you were in a lot of danger and had to disguise yourself."

"I don't know. Maybe not. Maybe I should completely change my entire identity even if I don't use Meg's name. I really don't know. I..."

"Is something wrong? Are you still afraid?"

She sighed and rubbed her head. "Raoul, I'm so grateful to you. I just…. It's all so much right now. It's all so much, and I'm exhausted. My head is going crazy. I literally feel crazy."

"You've been through a lot. It'll take time." She nodded, staring toward the nearest window. Outside, the sun was beginning to rise. A new day. A new country. _A new life._ "Is there anything I can do?" he softly asked.

"You've already done so much. So, right now, just hug me," she whispered. "Hold me and say we'll be safe forever. And maybe someday I'll believe you."

He wrapped his arms around her. "We'll be safe forever. Nothing can get you now. I promise."

But… she didn't believe him.

_Not yet. _


	21. Chapter 21

Hello from Orlando! :)

Here is a shorter, slightly more transitional chapter that begins (kind of) Part 2 of the story. I'm estimating about 35 chapters in total. As I'm sure you're guessing, beware the dark Erik for awhile. I'd even go so far as to call Erik and Cameron almost the co-villains for these next chapters- although they have very different motivations and goals. And I'm sure one has our sympathy far more than the other. Right? ;)

Speaking of that, love your wonderful feedback and love that people are conflicted about pairings. Glad that I've written a likeable Raoul.

**Read and Review!**

_"Hi, Erik. What can I do for you today?"_

"_Authorized password required to access Canadian immigration records."_

"_Software is searching for vulnerabilities in system. Please wait a moment. Vulnerability found. Vulnerability exploited. You are now logged in."_

"_Searching for Raoul Chagny. Found. Entered country on September 2__nd__, 2038. Click to access attached documents."_

"_Searching for Christine Daae. No records found."_

"_Searching for Christine Daae. No records found."_

"_Searching for Megan Giry. Found. Entered country on September 2__nd__, 2038."_

"_No documents found for Megan Giry. Attempting to resolve discrepancy." _

"_I'm sorry, Erik. The discrepancy could not be resolved. No documents found for Megan Giry. Possible human error."_

"_You're entering Events. You have canceled the event for September 2__nd__." _

"_Please access manual controls to change or turn off events. Manual controls overridden. All detonations still secured and set for noted dates." _

"_Erik, you said, 'I hate you.' Hate is defined as intense dislike. I'm sorry; I don't understand the command." _

"_Erik, you said, 'I hate you.' Hate is defined as intense dislike. I'm sorry; I don't understand the command." _

"_Erik, you said, 'I love you.' Are you trying to access Conversational Interactions?" _

"_Erik, can I assist you with something else?" _

"_Goodbye, Erik!" _

* * *

"I think that…I need to lie down." Raoul fell back onto the squeaky bed in the hotel room, arms stretched out at his sides. "Wow."

"You and me both," she murmured, sitting down with a sigh on the twin bed next to his.

They had spent most of the day making sure their paperwork was in order while trying to leave behind as few traces as possible. Christine had entered the country as Megan Giry but didn't want to cause any more problems for Meg in case she ever tried to travel in the future. At the same time, it seemed too dangerous to return to her real name as long as they were this close to the border. Raoul had asked the officials if she could have a name change. Apparently, Phillip had manipulated their situation enough for it to go through because she was now listed as Anna Marshall. Everyone had been nice enough throughout the process, although they did regard the couple with curious glances. At least they believed Raoul to be behind the strange circumstances—a political fugitive.

"What will my name change look like in the computers?" she asked an older, stern-looking woman who was going through their file one last time. She seemed to have some authority.

"What do you mean?"

"Will it show that I came in as Meg and then got a name change? Won't that look strange?"

"Well, we'll have some record that it happened. For security purposes."

"Could you not tie the names together? Or put it all in a paper file? At least for a little while?"

The woman stared over her thick glasses. "Not without getting into trouble. If you're worried about someone seeing it, don't be. This is a highly secure system."

"Can the computer talk to you?" Christine asked, rising out of the chair slightly. "Can it interact with you and find anything? Can it see everything?"

"N-no." The woman now looked at Christine as though she were a little crazy.

"Then it's not as good as _his._"

"His?"

"What she means," said Raoul with a nervous sideways glance, "is that nothing is really secure these days, right? Supposedly secure systems are always getting hacked."

The woman sighed. "All right. I'll try to keep things discreet." She looked between them. "What did you people do? Try to kill…." She stared longer at Raoul. "_Oh._ You tried to stop that son of a bitch who wants to take away my right to vote. Yes. Yes, I'll help you."

"Looks like we're good to go, _Anna_," said Raoul, sounding slightly amused as they walked out.

She softly laughed. "I hope I don't have to use it forever. I still feel like a Christine."

"You are definitely a Christine."

They had permission to move freely around the country. Raoul could use his driver's license for identification until they decided whether they wanted to be permanent residents. Phillip had given him a large sum of cash, and so they completed a quick currency exchange. The next difficult part would be making sure they didn't leave a trail of transactions behind them. At twenty-one, Raoul was barely old enough to rent a car at most businesses in Canada but certainly not without using a credit card. She could soon hear him arguing with someone at the car rental company.

"How do I know you're not going to steal it, kid?"

"I'll give you a ton of cash up front. It's just for several weeks." Raoul's voice was exhausted.

"You going to give me the value of the whole car?"

"I might as well buy a car if I do that."

"Might as well. You're not renting one here without at least a debit card or some way to track you. I wasn't born yesterday."

Raoul returned with a frustrated expression.

"Maybe someone at those immigration offices could help," she softly suggested, feeling increasingly useless in this situation.

"They said they would help us get around the capital if we needed it. But if we want to leave the city, we might have to take a bus or train farther west or north. If we want to stay in this country, we could buy a car...register it here...slowly start making this place home. But I don't know. I haven't thought about it. Do you want to stay here?" Raoul looked at her.

"I still don't feel entirely safe here. I feel...nervous."

He nodded. "Yeah. I know what you mean. Maybe Phil can get us to Europe for awhile."

"That would be...good." She paused and looked down. "Thank you for asking."

"For asking what?"

"Whether I want to stay here. No one...ever really asks me where I want to be anymore. So thank you."

"You're...welcome, Chris." He sounded slightly confused, but she didn't expect him to completely understand.

Raoul looked completely wiped out, and Christine knew he needed to sleep before they went anywhere else. They decided to take a taxi to a hotel, handing over a substantial upfront cash deposit to avoid using a credit card. The agent at the front desk made a copy of his ID. "We can't hide away forever," she murmured as they headed toward their room. "Just from today…that's a horrible way to live, isn't it? I never realized the world was so complicated."

"Yeah. We'll think about it. It'll be okay." Poor Raoul fell onto the bed and was asleep within minutes.

What _were_ they going to do? It'd happened so fast that the farthest she'd gotten in planning was escaping. That had seemed so insurmountable that she didn't dream further. And now that they were actually there….

She hadn't eating anything since lunch in Erik's home the previous day. A ham sandwich and some grapes. Her stomach was now in pain and growling at her; surely leaving the room for a moment wouldn't put her in danger. Was she going to be a frightened mess forever? Taking the key card, she crept down the hall and to the vending machines, always keeping an eye on her surroundings. _I am actually standing in a motel in Ottawa and getting potato chips from a vending machine. _A short, strange laugh escaped her lips. She opened the noisy bag and munched on one, but paranoia kept her from enjoying the moment for very long. She heard the pattering of footsteps and nearly ducked behind the ice machine.

Two little boys ran past her in colorful swimming trunks, and a middle-aged woman was chasing after them. "Hey! You two stop running, or you're not going to the pool! I mean it!" They slowed down to a walk, still laughing.

The door near her suddenly opened, and Christine again nearly ran away. This time, it was only a slender girl, probably around her age, talking on a cell phone. Her brown hair was highlighted, thick, and layered. Her nails were bright pink. "So I was telling him it's totally disrespectful. Right? I know! And he was all, 'We're just online friends.' Oh, I know. I know. I am so tired of that. He can kiss my you-know-what…."

Christine found her momentarily fascinating. All of it was enthralling, really. Sort of like when Raoul had taken her out of the Community for the first time. Except this place was happier and more alive. This was the world she'd known from childhood.

A heavier man was whistling down the hallways, and she uncomfortably recognized the tune. "L'amour est un oiseau rebelle" from _Carmen_. Erik had a recording of the entire opera. He stopped whistling in the middle of it to fish for his card, and Christine absentmindedly hummed the rest.

Someone tapped her shoulder. She jumped into the air and whirled around, nearly ready to sink to her knees and beg for mercy.

The girl who'd been on the phone was standing there. Now she was leaning back with her palms facing outward. "_Woah._ Didn't mean to freak you out." Christine stared at her, heart pounding. "Um, sweety." She leaned in and whispered, "I just thought you should know. Your _real_ hair is poking out from beneath that thing. But you have a really pretty natural color. So why are you wearing that? Unless you're like… sick…in which case, I just totally put my foot in my mouth."

Christine felt her face turn red. "No, I'm not sick."

"That's good." There was an awkward moment. "Well, you have a great day." She flounced off down the hall, hips moving from side to side with each step. And Christine stared after her with envy for a long moment-wishing she could be that confident and weightless.

In the safety of the room, she ripped off the stupid wig. More carefully, she removed the glasses. There was Christine again in the mirror. _Frightened Christine. _With a sigh, she went to the other bed and tried to sleep, fatigue and paranoia in a constant battle over her mind and body. Fatigue finally won. The creaking bed awoke her sometime later.

"Hey. You're blonde again!" Raoul was propped up on his arms and looking at her.

"The wig wasn't working out too well," she said with a yawn, happy to have him to talk to again. It helped keep her mind away from dark and depressing thoughts.

"I think we'll be okay. But if you're that concerned, we can dye it. It's up to you."

"I'll think about it. But I don't think dyed hair will stop…whatever is going to happen from happening."

"That's because nothing is going to happen." Raoul also yawned loudly and looked at the clock. "Wow. Guess I needed that."

"You were up all night for some reason," she joked.

"Oh, yeah." He laughed; he was very cute when he smiled. "Well…I guess we'd better have dinner and figure out a more long-term plan." Raoul grabbed the nearly full potato chip bag off the dresser and took a couple of chips.

"Yeah." She had started to feel safe in that room and almost didn't want to leave it. But surely they had to be okay for at least a little while, right? They were in an entirely different country! Raoul convinced her to go to a Japanese restaurant right beside the hotel. Christine walked close to his side and held his hand, keeping herself half-hidden by his shoulder. She liked the dark interior of the restaurant, and they were obscured from the doors and front windows by an aquarium with colorful fish. A fountain bubbled nearby.

"K. Give it a try. This is good stuff once you get used to it."

"Who eats raw fish?"

"The taste is covered up by other stuff; you won't even notice the fish. Like that's going to taste like avocado."

"All right…." A pause. A mouthful. "Raoul, I noticed the fish! Ah! I need a drink of something."

He quickly pushed her soda toward her, chuckling. "It takes a few times to get used to sushi."

"I'm getting some teriyaki chicken. That's good, right?"

"Yeah. You'll like that, I think." He took out a pen and yellow notepad. "All right. So we need to get us both some clothes and basic things."

"A toothbrush would be nice," she agreed.

"Cash should cover it. I also need to call my brother…."

"Right. To let him know you're okay…." She couldn't deny him the call, and yet it was the most dangerous part of his plans. "Don't say anything else. Anything about me or the Community. _Please._ We're so close…."

"Sure. I can also wait a little while."

She hesitated. "Maybe you should make a quick call from here right before we leave."

"Yeah. I think we should head farther west. We'll lay low. And Phil can eventually help us leave the continent. I have relatives in England. That's a safer bet, right?"

"I think so." What else could they do besides create more distance?

"Maybe he'll just let us go," Raoul murmured with a tired half-smile. "You think? We're making it pretty difficult."

The question and acknowledgement of Erik made her fidget. "I don't know. I…can't see him giving up very easily. He loved me. A lot." That was probably putting it lightly.

"I wouldn't call that love, Chri-Anna. More like…I don't even know. Kidnapping?" He paused. "I still have some questions…about what happened…."

She rubbed her head, more uncomfortable by the second. "Let's not talk about it right now. Not here. Please. Just give me some time to feel okay again."

"Sorry. I…." Raoul hesitated and then quickly changed the subject. "Now you should try this one."

"What's in it?" She eyed the roll suspiciously.

"Octopus." He grinned. She threw a straw wrapper at him, but it landed in the middle of the table. They both laughed, the tension melting away into nervous optimism.

That night, the sound of him softly snoring from the twin bed was comforting enough to put her to sleep. The gentle patter of the shower greeted her ears early in the morning. Raoul came out dressed and brushing his teeth. And he said, "Morning, Chris. Figured we'd get moving. Oh—careful with the shower. If you don't turn the knob all the way, the water stays freezing."

"Thanks." As she stretched out her arms and prepared to confront another day, Christine noticed her empty left hand.

They'd survived a night.

And they'd survived her entire wedding day.

* * *

Cameron Lourdes had been ready to proceed. While he had a strong dislike for the bride, he had at least thought the wedding would put some stability into the situation. Maybe Erik would be able to control her more. Obedience was part of the vows after all. So, true to his word, Cameron waited for them at the little chapel attached to his main compound.

Flowers were set out along the front—lavender and pink roses along with white hydrangeas and lilies. The room was filled with a soft, sweet scent. A small, round cake with a red rose was set up in one corner. A golden harp sat in another, for decoration only.

Leather book in hand, he waited.

And waited.

_And waited._

First, he contacted the Robinsons. In a sad and confused voice, Mrs. Robinson told him that Christine had never come by for her dress. No one had seen her that day.

At first, he was angry. He called the various numbers that he had for Erik, but no one answered. Cameron left a scathing message. "_Do you know how much time I've wasted? Is this your idea of a joke?"_

When he never received a reply, Cameron grew more nervous than irate. Had he gone too far in his criticism of Christine? He still needed Erik, especially in these next two months. Throwing his sinful pride aside, Cameron left a more cordial message. "Regarding Christine, our conversation was too heated. I was irritated. Busy and under pressure, as you know. I'm sure we can work this out. Please contact me. Immediately. Please."

But no one ever responded. An unpleasant feeling settled over him. _What was happening? He had thought the marriage would thrill Erik. In fact, it was the only event that brought a touch of light to those cold, calculating eyes. _ But the day ended, and the sun set.

The nanny was ill with some sort of virus, and so he'd been watching over Abby for the past couple of days. She had a fake plastic child's kitchen to play in, and that kept her busy and out of trouble. That night, she slept in a bedroom down the hall from his, clutching onto a stuffed brown bear. He'd been trying to rid her of the plush toy, thinking it juvenile, but didn't feel like dealing with her tears that night.

Cameron had settled into his bed, head comfortably situated on the goose feather pillow, and tried to forget the concern that had plagued him all evening. Suddenly, he felt a chill in the air. Before he could dwell on it, the sound of pattering footsteps approached his room. "Poppy!"

He sat up. "What is it, Abby?" His first thought was that she might be sick. Despite her healthy appearance, she was not always well. Cameron blamed her origins, a so-called designer child. God created imperfections in the human body that kept it alive. Man would pay for destroying them.

"Poppy, there's a ghost!"

He laughed and shook his head. "You silly girl. There's no ghosts. Did you say your prayers?"

"Yes."

"Then that will keep away all the demons."

"But I did say them, and there's still a ghost!"

"There aren't ghosts. Let's go back to bed." He led her to her room and pulled back the covers.

Face still scrunched up with worry, she slowly climbed inside them. "I'm scared…."

"There's no need to be. The Lord will keep all the bad things away because you're a very good girl." She nodded but didn't appear convinced. "Goodnight, Abby."

"Goodnight, Poppy."

He frowned as he returned to his room and hoped no one in the Community was spreading unholy ghost stories. He'd have to give a speech regarding pure conversations, especially around young minds. With a sigh, Cameron settled back into his bed. He closed his eyes.

"_Eeeaaaaah!" _

A child's scream ripped through the hallways. Cameron jumped out of bed, nearly tripping as he became wound up in the sheets. As he reached her closed door, the screaming stopped.

But then he heard singing. A lullaby in a foreign language. Maybe French? The sound was so beautiful that Cameron felt the notes creeping into his mind, making him want to fall asleep right there in the hallway. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs. With a nervous swallow, he threw open the door.

The sight nearly gave him a heart attack.

"Erik, what the _hell _are you doing with my granddaughter?" He turned on the nearest light, but the room was still dim. Yellow eyes glowed.

Erik stared at him but continued to sing, cradling her unconscious form, one arm supporting her back while her legs dangled over the other bony appendage.

"Give me Abby," Cameron whispered, his heart pounding.

The singing didn't stop.

"Give me Abby!"

The singing finally ceased.

A pause.

A whisper. "_Children_…like to play games, don't they, Cameron?"

Cameron felt a shiver overtake his entire body. A cold perspiration formed on his brow. Still, he managed to threaten, "Give me my granddaughter. Or I will call every single guard into this room."

Erik's head tilted to the left side. "That would be a senseless way to destroy your security team. The cleanup would be horrendous..."

"You couldn't take them _all_ on!"

"I rather think I could. In fact, do call them here. I think I might _enjoy _it, Mr. Lourdes. One needs a thrill every now and then…."

Threats were getting him nowhere. And the fact that even more disturbing statements were coming from the masked man holding his granddaughter-this was not good. Panicking inside, Cameron softened his voice and tried reason. "Erik, give me my granddaughter. _Please._ What in the world are you doing with her?"

Erik shrugged. "I was merely putting her back to sleep. She said she saw a ghost; you did not believe her. You really should have…." He sighed and then continued in a strange, sad tone. "Children—they like to play, don't they, Mr. Lourdes? Your granddaughter? She likes to _play_….Games of chase. And hide-and-seek. And make-believe." He paused. "My childhood was odd, so I did not play many games. Never with other children. So I suppose I did not understand the clever little games that _boys_ and girls play when they have too much time on their hands…."

Erik finally held out the little girl. Cameron grabbed her into his arms, relaxing slightly as he saw that she was breathing and uninjured—only in a deep sleep probably brought about by Erik's unholy voice. Or maybe she had fainted from fright. "Erik, I am going to put Abby back to bed. And then we will speak outside. Do you understand?"

"No need for a long, dull meeting, Mr. Lourdes. I have only come here to tell you that my wedding has been postponed."

"I _noticed._ But we'll have that discussion in a moment." Daring to turn his back on the masked shadow, Cameron placed Abby into bed and pulled the covers over her, checking once more to make sure her breathing was steady. "Now we will leave _this_ room and talk." To his relief, Erik followed him into the empty hall, staring forward, eyes still strange and intense. Cameron was afraid for his safety, but he kept his voice steady. "I don't know what you're trying to achieve with this type of visitation. I'm not even going to ask! But, yes, I would like to know why you and that girl weren't at your own wedding. Do you know how much time I wasted?"

"Oh, yes. A great deal of time was wasted…. Especially because of the ring. But there are no beautiful watery corpses. Only wasted time."

"What? You know I hate this creepy vagueness."

"I hate _things _as well. Like spoiled little boys who think they are entitled to other people's _belongings_…." A pause. "I hope he enjoys the last weeks of his little life. The idiot has left himself so ridiculously vulnerable…."

"Excuse me?" Cameron shook his head, beginning to feel consumed by Erik's fog of insanity. "What are you talking about? Why weren't you at your wedding? Is this some sort of ungodly joke?"

"A joke? I suppose it was. A game. A joke. All the same, really…." Erik flexed his fingers as though trying to grab something that was not there

Something was very, very wrong. And he suddenly wondered…."Erik, that girl is still alive, isn't she?" Not that it wouldn't have cleared up some problems if Ms. Daae were dead. But it would still mean that Cameron was dealing with a very imbalanced individual. His thoughts briefly went back to Abby. Was he going to have to surround her room with bodyguards? Would that even work?

But Erik replied, "She is quite alive."

"I'd like to see her then," said Cameron. "Bring her here now, and I'll marry you right here. At this very hour. I don't like this, Erik. You're acting strangely. You're scaring me, to be honest. I feel as though the Devil himself has come into this home."

"Oh, I will bring her, Cameron. I will. For _our_ wedding. Very soon." His movements were twitchy and off-balance. "But…Erik does not play long games of chase. Let her play her games for a bit. Let her. I will be very busy this month. I would have to leave my new bride locked in her room for days at a time, and she might go mad with no company. She very well might hurt herself. There are ways to be sure she doesn't, but…it all becomes far too complicated. So it must be the right time, so that I am always with her. While she cries because her game has ended and her boy is gone. For weeks…months…_years_ until she _understands _where her destiny lies. You will grant me that time after I give you your country. Time to help her…_understand _that no one else can give her what I can…."

Suddenly, Cameron began to _understand._ He clutched the side of the wall for support. "Did she run away?" He received no answer. "Is that what you're saying? She ran away?"

"Children like to play," was all Erik said. "But I must go now, Mr. Lourdes. There is your new country to attend to. We are adults, and we do not play games. We only make the rules, no?" He laughed at this, and it was a horrible sound. "I will meet with you soon to show you how it will all play out. I think you will be very pleased. "

"Erik, where is that girl? Do you know how much damage she could do if she-"

"Children can do _nothing._ I have made certain of that. And, by the time I am finished, no one will care. They will be too busy trying to save themselves. I will see you in several days with the final plans. Be ready."

Erik disappeared. Swallowing sickly, Cameron collapsed to the floor tiles. He remembered that Raoul Chagny was supposed to leave the country soon per the bargain. And wondered if the girl was now with him….

She had enough information to be dangerous, knew the truth about the Spirit. Who knew what else Erik had told her? And now she was possibly with the younger Chagny boy? No matter what Erik thought in his increasingly unstable mind, two _children_ could certainly destroy everything. With his head buried in his hands, Cameron considered his options and their consequences for a very long time. The girl was bringing Erik so terribly close to the edge….

As a heavy feeling settled inside his chest, he began to pray. "Forgive me now for what must be done. I see no other way to save _Your _country…."


	22. Chapter 22

**H.J.F has done a beautiful drawing of Shadow Government Christine. It's exactly how I would picture her. Please go enjoy it from my profile page! Thank you, H.J.F!** **And I'd love to see any other work that you do :)**

Love your feedback. A very insightful reviewer compared Cameron to the Taliban. I loosely base his society off various U.S. dominionism sects, but some of their ideology is disturbingly close to that of the Taliban.

All right, guys. I'm afraid that this is a dark transitional chapter. So grab your fluffiest pillow and hold on tight. Next chapter should start up the action again. And you'll see a lot more of Erik soon. Like in Leroux, he tends to be a more invisible presence until Final Lair.

**Read and Review!**

Surviving the first day, her wedding day, had felt like a miracle.

After the second and third day, Christine wondered if she had a guardian angel. Maybe her father, looking down from heaven, realized the fate he had nearly handed his daughter and was now helping her escape.

The days after that slowly began to blend together. No one ever sprang out of the shadows to grab her. No yellow eyes glowed from the darkness. She walked freely through the streets, blonde hair waving wildly in the late summer breeze.

"How is Phillip?" Christine asked as they took the train to the next city. A new black suitcase sat beside her, filled with jeans, long-sleeved shirts, undergarments, and basic toiletries. She'd taken on a more casual and relaxed appearance, hoping to blend in with the crowds as much as possible.

"Good," replied Raoul. His forehead was wrinkled, and he was looking to the side as though thinking about something.

"Are you sure? Is anything wrong?"

"No." He finally looked at her and smiled. "Everything is good. We had a three minute conversation, and then the static got really bad. We could hardly hear each other. So we hung up."

"That's…weird."

"Probably just bad service down there. No big deal. I'll call him again in a few days."

That was the only disturbing occurrence. Outside of the inconvenience of always paying cash, their journey was smooth. They ate well-everything from hamburgers to burritos to, of course, pizza. They also chatted a little bit about their former lives. Unlike her, Raoul had grown up normally, continuing to go through the public school system. He'd done well academically and been on the track and tennis team. The death of his father had of course shaken him up. After high school, he'd attended a private college in the northeast for two years until it closed its doors because of financial problems and nearby violence. Phillip had offered to send him to a foreign school, but Raoul declined.

"It wasn't a big deal," he said to her with a shrug as he took a bite of pepperoni pizza. "I still wasn't sure what I wanted to do. I come from a long line of politicians and lawyers, but I never quite fit in there. I always thought owning a restaurant would be cool. But the economy is such a mess that I wouldn't have been able to start a business in the states anyway."

"I didn't get to dream of being anything," she murmured, picking at a spinach and strawberry salad. "I was lucky to not be married off sooner…."

"What about now?" Raoul asked. "You're a great singer."

She shifted, all thoughts of music leading to one place. "I may do that again…in time." _Or maybe she would never, ever sing again. Her voice had been nothing but trouble. _"But I really think I'd like to be a teacher someday. Maybe for nine or ten year olds."

Raoul nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah? I always thought coaching kids would be fun. You should go for it."

After a pause while they finished their dinner, she asked, "Raoul, why do you think things got so bad back home?"

"I don't really know. No one does. Countries rise and fall all the time, I guess."

"Yeah."

When they arrived in Edmonton, she began to feel truly safe again. They moved freely between restaurants and shops in a city that was thriving economically. The air seemed clean and fresh, and the September sun was extra bright. "Let's stay here for awhile," she said, looking out the hotel window from the third floor. "Not forever. But…I feel _good_ here."

"This works," Raoul replied, probably also wanting to catch his breath. "I'll try to get a hold of Phillip again in a couple of days. You still want to go to Europe, right?"

"Um, yeah. I guess that would be for the best." She twirled her hair on her finger and continued to look out at the passing people, forever entranced by this new, bright world. Raoul came up behind her and gazed out with her, placing a hand on her arm. She smiled at him.

"Hey, Chris. Can I ask you something? About what happened to you?"

Her smile faded, but she nodded. "Yeah. Go ahead." Christine wasn't exactly ready to talk about it again, but, without Raoul, she wouldn't have escaped at all.

"So after you were...kidnapped, you had to have been let out again, right? I saw you that one night, and I know that you sang for some assemblies. And then that…advertisement for Cameron."

"You saw that stupid thing?"

"Yeah."

Christine grimaced. "Yes, Erik trusted me enough to let me go out eventually. I would sing for Cameron's ceremonies, and then they wanted me to help him recruit." She described her meeting with the congressmen. "I don't know why they wanted me," she muttered. "I definitely wasn't enthusiastic about it."

"Probably because you softened their image."

She grunted. "I told Erik I hated doing those things, and he did get me out of it. I said I would still sing. And I only agreed to do that because, one night, Erik showed me this really terrible part of the city. He said that he and Cameron were helping to save the country. And these people definitely looked like they needed to be saved. They were starving and sick. I even saw a dead child…."

"Yeah," Raoul murmured. "I know what you're talking about. So…what made you finally leave?"

"Anthony," she admitted. "That was the final straw."

Raoul's eyes softened. "How'd you know I was telling the truth?"

She started to tell him about the complex computer system but paused, not wanting to go into the details of that awful thing. "I just knew that you hadn't gone there to kill anyone. I knew it was a lie."

"Did you ever find out about the butterflies?"

She hesitated. _Well, he already knew about those…. _"Yeah. I think they're miniature cameras. They can record everything. I think some of them can hear, too."

"I knew they had to be something like that!" Raoul sat up straight and sounded almost excited; his expression was half-victorious and half-angry. "So they're going to spy on everyone with those things….That's sick!"

"Yeah."

"Was Erik's home in the Community?" His voice was very eager. "Like in Cameron's compound?"

She lowered her gaze. "Why are you asking me that?"

"Well…."

"You want to tell Phillip where he is, don't you? That's why you want to know…."

"It could be our chance to stop them," Raoul replied, trying to get her to look into his eyes again. "I could tell Phil, and he could lead the authorities right there."

"You can't lead _anyone_ there. They'd get killed!"

"Not if we send enough people! The good cops! Hell, the military if we need to!"

"It'd make it obvious that I'm with you if you told Phillip over the phone. What if someone heard?"

"We'd be careful. I'd find a way to…." He rubbed the back of his head. "Chris, you have information we couldn't get from anywhere else. I…." Suddenly, Raoul's mouth dropped open slightly, and he appeared almost wounded. "You still feel some sort of…_loyalty_ to him. You're protecting him. That's it, isn't it?"

Her face flushed. "It's not loyalty! Raoul, I'm finally free. Don't you understand? I want to forget all of it. I just want to forget. And every time we involve ourselves, we're in danger again."

"I'm trying to put a stop to some really terrible stuff. All those people being manipulated and lied to! What happened to you is unforgivable! And now these creepy butterflies!? We won't go back. But at least Phillip should know where this psycho is hiding…." She only frowned at him. "Fine. I get it," he muttered, quickly walking away from the window.

They didn't speak to each other for several hours. It was their first real fight since the start of their journey.

Not wanting to feel like she was losing the only person she had left in the world, Christine approached him that afternoon while he was watching the news. His expression was more tired than angry. "Raoul," she softly began. "You can tell your brother about the butterflies…and the propaganda. But the location of Erik…so much could go wrong…." She couldn't give him that. Fear of what could happen to someone who entered Erik's underground domain and fear of what could happen to Erik prevented it. All of the consequences would be on her shoulders.

He sighed but nodded. "You're right that it'd be dangerous to bring attention to ourselves here. And we can't do much anyway. A raid on butterflies? One mysterious man is the Spirit? They'll think we're crazy. They didn't even believe me about Anthony…." Raoul paused. "Besides, deep down, these people have to know all the illusions aren't real…that the Spirit isn't real. They're just _afraid._"

"But _we're_ free," she said, sitting down beside him. "I still can't believe we made it…."

He took her hand and squeezed it. "Me neither."

They had both been forced to grow up too fast in some ways, Christine supposed. And so, that evening, they were like two teenagers on their first date. They had dinner at a fancy Italian restaurant and then went out for ice cream. Christine chose mint chocolate chip, and Raoul bought chocolate chip cookie dough. He took her to a silly movie, and she laughed until tears formed in her eyes. And then she did cry for a couple of moments in the dark theater, overwhelmed by all the sudden changes in her life. They went into a novelty shop, and she tried on a funny straw hat with three large white feathers on the top. Despite her protests, Raoul bought it for her, saying, "We should get something to remember this evening."

And then they sat on a wooden bench beside a fountain with a mermaid statue on top. No one else was around. As the air became colder, they leaned into each other for warmth. And they gently began to kiss. It quickly deepened, and the rest of the world blessedly faded away as she closed her eyes.

"Are you okay?" he softly asked, pulling back so that his face was inches from hers. His hands gently cupped the sides of her head. "I know you've been through hell and back. Not trying to rush you into anything…."

She nodded and opened her lids, feeling her face warm. "Yeah. I'm…great. I…just don't have a lot of experience…."

"Oh…. You're absolutely fantastic, Christine." He leaned in again, soon moving to her cheek and ear. They kissed until they were breathless and starry-eyed.

When they both drew back, she looked down shyly, face tingling. "So…."

"Heh. Um…."

They sat their awkwardly for several minutes until she softly asked, "Have you had a lot of girlfriends?"

"Heh." Raoul seemed kind of uncomfortable. "I had two that were about as serious as you get for college and high school. One just didn't work out. We were only sixteen, so….The other left college when things started getting bad. But I'm not sure we would have stayed together. It'd take her four hours to get ready for a date." Christine giggled at this. "She wanted me to come with her to Australia. But I thought things would get better, so I stayed with my mom and brother." He shrugged. "So that's my exciting love life."

"It was better than mine. Dating was forbidden. You had a courtship with the person you were supposed to marry. Sometimes they didn't work out, but the families were shunned for months if that happened. So…it usually _had_ to work out."

"Is that what you had with….?"

Christine hesitated. "No. That was different. More like a…a bargain."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing." She sighed. "It doesn't matter now."

He paused. "Well, Chris. We could just date. It doesn't mean marriage or any weird promises. If it works out, that would be awesome. If it doesn't…we'll still be friends who survived this whole mess together."

She smiled at the simplicity of it. "That sounds…good. _Date._ I've never done that before."

"Really?" His eyes lit up, and he kissed her lips again, the fountain softly bubbling behind them.

"Yeah." She wrapped her arms around the neck of her…boyfriend. Yes, she had a boyfriend now. And his blue eyes were so warm and full of hope. And they were safe. She knew it. She had to know it.

Even in these wonderful moments, she couldn't help her mind from drifting backwards, from feeling _his_ rage as though he could see this entire scene. _Leave me alone, Erik. Please. I can't be part of that….You can't control me anymore….I'm done! _But the spot where the ring had once been burned as though to frantically alert her that something was missing. _No!_

Was she to make his dinner every night after he came home from a long day of…_killing_ people who expressed dissent? And, even worse, Erik didn't even believe in what Cameron stood for! He did it to be cruel! He had to. _Why else would he? Why, Erik?!_

She should hate him for all he had done.

Yet she couldn't. And maybe that was more frustrating than anything. Erik had made her feel more things than she ever thought possible across the entire spectrum of human emotion, but hatred wasn't one of them. Raoul had been right; she was still protecting him on some level. All she could do regarding Erik was _hurt _and cry and wonder what had made him like that….

Oh, how she wished she could stop hurting. She wanted to forget. She wanted Raoul to take her far away into the daylight so that she would finally be free of all this confusing, painful madness.

_Let me go…._She pled this in her dreams every night.

The reply was always the same.

_Never. _

* * *

Before he did something rash and possibly dangerous, Cameron wanted more verification. It was very easy to confirm through a government source that Raoul Chagny had left the U.S. and entered Canada. That had been part of the bargain anyway; it was no secret. The girl was much harder to track.

After Erik's terrifying visit, he had prayed all night for guidance. Cameron's hope was that, in his insanity, Erik would give him more information.

Unfortunately, that was not to be.

Several days later, Erik arrived in his office. The glint of madness had been partially replaced with the familiar coldness. Only if Cameron looked very closely could he see the subtle twitch or spasm in Erik's smooth movements that indicated all was not well with his prized mercenary.

Without a word, Erik pointed a small black device at the table and pushed a button. A white light flashed, and then a digital three dimensional map of the United States popped up onto the smooth surface. The background was yellow, but various locations were marked with stars of different colors. All stars were marked with dates.

Erik pointed to two locations. His voice was calm; only the closest listener might have noticed a tremble. "The beginning," he stated as though starting a bedtime story. "Smaller. Enough to destabilize and renew panic—now that you have made your connections." A pause. "Now here and here. Much more significant. The markets will likely close the following day. Riots and looting are probable. The authorities will have little power, although martial law may begin. Your numbers will grow. And then several days of peace to give them a false sense of security. This will occur in several cycles." Another pause. "But all of that is merely a bit of _fun_ before this climatic day in October. First, you see, this one…this little orange star…this one will obviously create very explosive chaos. You will then give a speech that night. A very welcoming and uplifting speech. In fact, I will write this speech because I do not want you to make any idiotic errors. And then…." He pointed to the final event, a blue star, with one bony index finger. The finger curled, as if the hand of the Grim Reaper were claiming the entire location.

"You cannot be serious," whispered Cameron, trailing his finger to the star as well. His skin turned blue.

"It will be perfect. Have you made all your connections? The military? This is where they will step in…."

"But it's…."

"A false flag. There will be indisputable proof that it was the work of the federal government. I told you Chagny's little foray into the Community would prove useful. Oh, how that boy will _suffer…_. "

Cameron swallowed. "There will be very high casualties on that day, won't there? You know I like to avoid those..."

"Somewhat. We will limit it to the highest needed for the reaction we desire. Certainly not enough to damage your numbers in the slightest. Even without my electronic manipulations, you will win every election in which you have a candidate. It is even possible, although not guaranteed, that the current administration will flee to the west."

"So I will have the northeast?"

"In the beginning, that area will be in complete disorder. You will need to speak often to them. I will take care of the background noise. Where your support is strongest, the violence will calm. It will be a sort of conditioning process. Support Cameron Lourdes, and you will be safe. That is the message they will soon receive."

"And the west?" Cameron's voice had a touch of eagerness.

"We used few resources there for now. First, we gain control of the east. See if you can manage that, Cameron. See if you are as capable as you believe you are, and I will do the rest." He paused. "Do you agree to it?" Erik widely gestured toward the map, hand slightly shaking.

"Yes. It makes sense, reluctant as I am for that last part. It…makes sense. And our hands will be clean?"

"We will look like the only bright shining beacon of hope in all the frenzied horror. My greatest triumph."

"It is God's triumph," Cameron admonished him. "But yes. Only possible through your hard work." Cameron turned away, heart pounding from the information that Erik had just given him. _So close, Lord. We are so close to Your country. All will soon be right and good. _But there was still one issue to deal with. "Erik, thank you for this. It is truly amazing. But…that's enough politics for now. How about something more uplifting, my friend? When are we going to reschedule your wedding?"

"That is my affair now!" he nearly snarled, losing his composure. Cameron stepped backward. "It will be soon. That is all you need to know."

"Where is she, Erik?"Cameron asked with feigned sympathy.

"That is my concern."

"Do you even know where she is?"

"Of course. I always know where my bride is. What sort of future husband would I be if I did not know where my sweet little bride was? I always know, Cameron. _Always_…."

"Then where?"

"That is my concern," he repeated, eyes taking a deadly glint. "You will leave all matters concerning her to me. I will not seek your input regarding her. _She_ is mine. _Erik's_ bride! You take all the rest."

Cameron played his final card, knowing it wouldn't work. "As my employee, I order you to give me this information."

"You order me, Cameron?" In the yellow eyes, it almost looked as though Erik were smiling at him in a disturbing sort of way. "Oh, if I were in a better mood, I might laugh. But I am not. I am not in a pleasant mood at all. My disposition has been horrible as of late. So I will merely wish you goodnight…." He clicked off the map with a twitching hand. Erik was in somewhat control of himself again, and Cameron would receive no more information from him.

But Erik wasn't the only person whom Cameron knew in dark places. Oh, Erik was by _far_ the best. There was no one who could do what Erik did. He possessed qualities that Cameron didn't know could exist in a single man—intelligence in dozens of disciplines, speed, cunning…an almost supernatural ability to be everywhere at once.

But that didn't mean Erik was the only one who could track information or make someone…disappear.

The next evening, Cameron traveled to a distant town and met someone in person behind an abandoned restaurant. The purpose of the meeting was to discuss new building sites for his rapidly expanding Community, he'd said over the phone. Cameron hid the lower part of his face with a black scarf, and a black hat covered his head. He kept an eye out for any unwanted wildlife, insects or small birds.

His guest soon arrived. Cold, dark eyes. Lips formed into a thin, emotionless line. He also wore a hat, but his cleanly shaven face was uncovered. There was nothing notable about the middle aged man. He might have been considered handsome if not for the iciness in his expression. No pleasantries were exchanged. "Chagny left with a Megan Giry." The man held out a photograph of a cute girl with short, dark hair.

"Giry? That name sounds familiar…." Cameron thought hard_. Caroline Giry._ She'd been a member of the Community years ago. She'd overheard more information than was acceptable, and they'd had to banish her, making the woman believe that she was insane through various tricks. Erik had chosen to let her live, thinking her death might draw unwanted attention, and now Cameron was wondering if it'd been the right decision. "Small world," he muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing. You're sure? Megan Giry?"

"That's the name. And the address is vacant."

Was is possible that Christine and Raoul weren't together? Maybe the stupid girl had run off somewhere else? There was so much disorder and danger she could escape into. Someone might always pick her up and force her into the horrible human trafficking business. Or just kill her.

But uncertainty wasn't good enough. Cameron needed to know. He felt almost defiant. _This was his kingdom! This was his mission for God! _No longer would Erik keep him in the dark about these matters. "I need you to track Raoul Chagny in Canada. He keeps in contact with his family. You should be able to find him that way, maybe through a phone call. I know you can do that. He will be with a girl. If she is the girl in your photograph, send me the message: _The Lord is Good._ But…if it's this girl…." Cameron handed him a picture of Christine. "Send me the message_: I will fear no evil, for you are with me._"

The man raised an eyebrow; he was probably not a very godly man. "And if it's neither?"

"It will be. And, if it's the latter, stay and wait for further instructions."

* * *

Raoul was alarmed at how difficult it was to reach his family. Still, he didn't want to upset Christine any more than necessary, especially because she was already glancing over her shoulder every five seconds. He pressed a kiss to her cheek as she slept that morning. "I'm going to find a phone," he whispered. "I'll be right back." She softly moaned, her forehead crinkling as though she were in the middle of a bad dream.

He went across the street and used a phone at a café. The other line rang three times, and then Raoul heard the faint voice of his older brother. "Phil?"

"Raoul? Is that you? I can barely hear you?" The static grew even louder.

"Yeah. It's me. I just…." The line went dead, and he was left with a cold dial tone.

Frustrated, Raoul rubbed his head. Had the infrastructure really deteriorated so much that he couldn't even make a stupid phone call? He didn't try again, not wanting to bring attention to himself. When he returned to the room, Christine was sitting up in bed with wide eyes. "Where'd you go?"

"Still trying to get a hold of Phillip," he said, thinking it was probably not a good idea to tell her things when she was half-asleep. "Not much luck."

She frowned. "What if we can't reach him? I wonder why we can't…."

"Probably just bad phone connections."

Raoul wondered if either of them really believed that. Still, he reassured her multiple times, trying to make her fears go away. Unfortunately, the news soon thwarted all his attempts at this goal.

They were in a sandwich shop with several televisions mounted on the wall, the sort of place where sporting events were often broadcasted. The names, mascots, and colors of various teams were posted everywhere. It must have been a slow day in sports because the news was on. Ignoring the TV altogether, Raoul and Christine were sitting next to each other in a wooden booth, having a cheerful conversation about travel. "I'd love to go to Japan," he said. "I hear you can't believe the technology they have now. Probably why they have one of the top economies."

"Hm. That would be neat. But I'm still dying to see Europe. The old castles and churches. I've read so much about it, and—"

Suddenly, a breaking news report flashed onto the nearest television screen. They both sharply glanced up at the sound of the grim voice.

A grey-haired anchorman with glasses spoke urgently into the camera. "More bad news out of the U.S. tonight. Two explosions have apparently erupted in major urban areas, one near Baltimore and one in Philadelphia, reportedly destroying two major financial districts. No injuries have been reported so far, but authorities say a lot of data may have been lost. After a fairly calm summer, this is the first major act of violence. Authorities are again focusing on Citizens Against Classism, or CAC, although so far there have been no claims of responsibility. Let's go to Ryan for more information."

A younger, dark-skinned man flashed on, his expression also gloomy. "Right now, we're only beginning to get details. Our reporters down there have to exercise extreme caution in these situations."

"Yes, we all remember the three journalists from Germany who were killed in last year's Chicago riots. Very tragic. Do we have a statement from the Prime Minister or other officials?"

"No. But we've been assured multiple times that Canada has secured itself against the rapid decline of the United States. _If _the current U.S. government collapses, there will of course be some ripple effects felt all across the world. There will be economic and security issues. But most developed countries _have_ made sure that basic commerce, travel, safety, and general operations will continue even under a worst-case scenario. During the emergency talks held last October in London, world leaders were able to work through many of these important details."

"Thank you, Ryan. I'm going to bring up a map here to remind everyone where this all stands right now. All right. Larissa, you've been following this situation for several years. Go ahead and take us through this map."

A petite brunette woman came into view. "Thank you, James. Okay. Over here in this green-shaded area, you have the somewhat more stable western areas. If the eastern half does descend into chaos, world leaders hope that the western half can form its own government and act on behalf of itself. Some have suggested Denver as a new central capital. Other ideas have also been thrown out. These states are already making it on their own, cooperating when they have to. It's still a volatile situation."

"And then of course there's what we refer to as Cameron Country," said James, urging her along.

"Yes," she replied with less enthusiasm. "The support for him in this purple area is very strong down here. His men are still expected to do very well in the upcoming elections. Even in the northeast, which has experienced absolutely devastating violence and poverty, his supporters could do much better than expected. We're still following the polls, although it's been very difficult to get a reliable sampling."

"And if Cameron Lourdes does gain an upper hand in the U.S. politically, through the elections or an all out disintegration of the current government, what would we be looking at? Let's say, in an extreme scenario, he becomes the leader of the eastern half. Some have suggested a theocracy?"

She nodded grimly. "It does seem like that based on what we know. But there is still _so_ much we don't know. Is it going to be a heavily controlled society? What happens to those down there who express dissent? Will the U.S. Constitution be upheld, or is this going to be a separate country with entirely different laws? How will Cameron negotiate with world leaders? How will the military react? These questions have a lot of people very concerned."

The man shook his head. "It's strange to think about the rise of Cameron Lourdes, isn't it? Ten years ago, he was completely unknown. A couple thousand members at most. Within the last few years, his support has multiplied."

"That's true, but it's really not so hard to see why. While most other countries climbed out of the recession that gripped the world during the 2020's, the United States continued to decline. Economics and historians will continue to puzzle over…."

"So this is what it looks like from the _real_ outside," Christine whispered, eyes still glued to the television.

"Yeah. Strange, isn't it?" Raoul murmured.

"What's the date?"

Raoul checked his phone. "September 9th." She squinted. "Is something wrong?"

"N-no. It's…fine."

They soon left the restaurant, but Raoul noticed that that her eyes remained distant and worried. He could feel the rigidness in her body whenever he hugged her. Christine remained that way over the next few days as Raoul frantically tried to contact his brother. The phone call was always the same, nothing but static and irritating noise. All of this combined was making him extremely nervous, as though something were creeping up behind him, readying itself to strike. Finally, one morning, he was about to tell her that they might have to escape to Europe without Phillip's help.

She spoke first. "It's September 14th, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Time's moving quickly, isn't it? Listen, I think-" She walked past him and turned on the television. Confused, he stared at the back of her head and, with a sigh, decided to speak with her later. Christine remained there for hours, watching the screen with wide eyes.

"Chris, what are you waiting for?" he finally asked.

"Please," she whispered, not looking at him. "Maybe nothing. Please just let me watch." Her hands gripped the sides of the chair.

By late that afternoon, Raoul was about ready to beg her to get away from the television. They needed to take a walk or something, escape the cramped room and find some fresh air. As he approached her, though, he saw that both hands were now clutching the sides of her head. Christine was gaping, her face ghost white. "What-?" He glanced at the television.

A reporter was speaking; orange flames were visible behind him. "More explosions have ripped across the south and northeast tonight. We don't know the damage, and we don't know if there are casualties. But this, folks—this is not good for our southern neighbor. Once again, there has been massive destabilization. I'm sure authorities are looking hard at various groups with terrorist and extremist ties…."

Raoul's mouth fell open. "You knew, didn't you? How did you know? How did you know it would happen again today?" he frantically whispered, sitting next to her and clutching her shoulders.

But she could only sob, her face crumpling. "He lied!" she gasped. "He lied! He lied! About _everything_! Why?! He lied! It was him! It was always him! It's all him!" She was practically convulsing, shaking and crying, barely able to breathe. "No, no, no…. I can't believe it. I can't believe it…."

Afraid she was going to go into shock, Raoul tightened his hold, desperately trying to quiet her. "Chris, I've got you. Calm down, baby. He can't hurt you anymore. He'll never touch you again. I promise! Everything's going to be okay."

But she continued to whisper, "How could you? _Erik, how could you?_ Oh my God. Oh my God. _Oh my God!_" Her voice grew louder until it reached a shrill scream.

"What's happening? How did you know?! I don't understand…."

She couldn't seem to hear him, continuing to mutter to herself with wide tear-filled eyes. He held her the rest of the night, asking no more questions. Christine clung to him tightly, her fully-clothed body melding against his beneath the covers. She would sleep for an hour or so and then awaken with a gasp and a shudder. Raoul continuously murmured reassurances to her, wishing he knew what was going on in her head. Despite being hundreds of miles away, this terrible man still had a firm grip on her, was slowly stealing her sanity.

The stress of the day must have taken a toll on him. Raoul didn't feel or hear her leave the bed. When he awoke, Christine was sitting in the armchair by the window. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, and her arms were wrapped around them. She was silently staring outwards.

"Christine?" he softly asked, sitting up. His jeans and long-sleeved shirt were wrinkled from sleep. "Are you…okay?"

Without turning around, she spoke, her voice strained and broken. "I'll tell you everything. Even where _he_ lives. And you…." She swallowed. "You have to tell Phillip. Maybe there's still time to save some of it…."

"What's going on?"

"You can't tell him until we're far away. Because we'll be in so much trouble if…if anyone ever finds out. If it's heard on the phone line….Maybe it's too late. And maybe nothing can be done now. But…."

"Chris, I can't even get a hold of my brother," Raoul finally admitted. "We're kind of isolated here. I'm having really bad luck with the phones…."

Her eyes widened with even more terror as she turned to look at him. "I doubt it's that," she whispered. "There aren't any accidents or coincidences or…_luck_. It's all been planned….All of it. I see now. I can't believe it. But I know it has. I feel it. We're in so much danger…."

"What are you talking about?" he desperately asked. "What's been planned?"

With a limp hand, she gestured toward the muted television. "All of it, Raoul. _All _of it."


	23. Chapter 23

**Thank you for all your lovely comments. I'm glad I didn't chase too many people away with that dark chapter. There are quite a few dark chapters to follow. And I really hope that you enjoy this one….**

**Read and Review!**

Erik and Cameron had not simply taken advantage of an awful situation, of a collapsing economy and a crumbling country.

They had _created_ the terrible situation.

All of the madness and destruction in these last several years—it was them. As this revelation descended upon her once she'd connected the digital calendar to the events on the television, something inside Christine snapped. She could barely hear Raoul trying to calm her down as the cold wave of horror threatened her very sanity. Only sleep had somewhat dulled the panicked despair. A bitter resolve overtook her as she stared out the window in the morning. She liked the anger; it was better than the anguish—than the utter feeling of betrayal she felt at all Erik's lies.

Raoul didn't even believe her at first. She scooted to make room for him in the large armchair and rested her head on his firm shoulder. "I don't see how one man could be responsible for all of that. The complete collapse of half the nation? Seriously?"

"I've told you he's not an ordinary man."

"But-" He rubbed his forehead. "We're talking about a single man destroying an entire country." Raoul paused and then maybe remembered a history lesson or two. "Jesus. You're sure?"

"I saw the calendar, and the dates match up. And it's not only that. It's also—it's the way Erik spoke. As though he were on a mission or something. But I never imagined it was this." _All the lies about wanting to help people. _She was trying to force her brain to truly hate him. Because she would need to hate him if she were going to help stop him. Before he obliterated everything else.

"My God," murmured Raoul after thinking it over for several minutes. "All this time. Cameron's been making people so terrified of the world that they'll join his stupid Community just to stay safe. It makes sense, now that I think about it. The random violence and craziness. It was the only way they could get that much power."

They were both too shocked to speak for awhile, probably searching for some simple solution that didn't exist. They were barely old enough to vote in elections. How would they help to save an entire country? It seemed so ridiculous. She felt so very small and insignificant.

"Is there a place to read more about this?" she softly asked. "Maybe about Cameron?"

"There's the Internet."

"Oh, yeah." She realized that, while Erik had provided her with more books than she'd ever imagined, he had denied her access to a computer with networking capabilities. Because she'd grown up without such things, Christine had never thought to ask. And maybe Erik never wanted her to discover certain information.

They found a computer station on the first floor of the hotel. Raoul searched for informative articles and then sat behind her as she browsed through them.

_Cameron Lourdes-third and youngest child of Edward Lourdes._ _Edward Lourdes owned a group of successful financial service firms. His eldest child, Paul Lourdes, enjoyed investing in startup biotech companies and other organizations that were involved in cutting edge scientific research. While sailing in 2030, Paul was killed when he accidentally fell overboard. The middle child of Edward, Courtney Lourdes, is a surgeon who currently resides in Ireland with her family. She has been an outspoken critic of Cameron….When Edward died in 2031, the massive inheritance was split in Cameron's favor after a legal battle over the terms of the will. _

"I wonder if Paul's death was really an accident," Raoul muttered, looking over her shoulder. Christine grunted in agreement and continued to read.

_Cameron married Alanna Williams in 2008, and they had one son, Matthew Lourdes. It is reported that, unlike his father and brother, Cameron was unsuccessful in his business ventures. He was forced to declare bankruptcy in 2012. In 2017, Cameron reportedly had a vision during a trip to Jerusalem in which God spoke to him and told him to "give up all worldly goals and possessions and create the perfect holy society." This reportedly began the Community, a small fringe group who followed very stringent and antiquated rules….Cameron's wife died of breast cancer in 2021….Matthew later disagreed with his father's beliefs, and the two became estranged. Matthew married a successful lawyer in 2032 and had one child, Abigail. He committed suicide after his daughter's birth for undisclosed reasons….His wife died soon after in a car accident. _

Christine sighed and scrolled down. It was interesting and kind of sad but not helpful. The end of the article was annoyingly vague.

_The Community's membership increased somewhat during the 2020's as the entire world suffered through a severe financial recession. But it wasn't until the 2030's that membership exploded, coinciding with Cameron's inheritance as well as the unanticipated deterioration of the United States. Supernatural phenomena. Unproven. Mysterious disappearances. Also unproven. _

She glanced through the other articles. At best, all they mentioned were rumors of disembodied voices or similar occurrences. "It's like I'm the only one who knows. And now you." Again, Christine felt so small.

"Do we go to the press? The Canadian authorities? Who do we tell? How do we stop it?"

"I don't even know if anyone would believe us," she murmured. "And we'd draw a lot of attention to ourselves. That's why I want to get to Europe first. At least we'd be a little safer."

"I've got to tell Phillip somehow. He has good connections. People might believe him, especially if you tell us…."

"Where Erik lives," she whispered even though no one was around. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the unbearable ache that surrounded her heart. _Did you think I'd never find out, Erik? Or did you think I wouldn't care?_ "I will tell you," she said. "At the right time."

"Maybe I'll finally be able to reach Phil without static today."

She frowned. "I'm not sure if you should keep calling him. Something isn't right."

"How else would I reach him? An e-mail could easily be tracked."

"I don't know." She softly moaned. "I feel so…helpless right now."

He squeezed her hand. "We'll figure something out. I still can't believe this. It's insane…."

They sat there silently for several minutes before Raoul softly suggested that they grab some lunch. Christine wasn't hungry, but maybe food would help them think. It couldn't hurt. She felt so simultaneously numb and ill that almost nothing could hurt at this point.

But, as soon as they left the hotel, a very strange feeling descended upon her. _The sensation of being watched._ Christine shivered and glanced around at the building windows, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. The sun shone brightly, and none of the people who walked past them appeared sinister. "Everything okay?" Raoul asked.

"Yeah." Maybe the recent events had made her paranoid. "Tired, I guess. I didn't sleep well last night."

They had a quiet lunch, and she managed to eat half a hamburger and two salty fries. They were both lost in thought, trying to decide what their next steps might be. Raoul slowly spoke as they walked back home. "I want to try Phillip one more time tomorrow morning. But if I can't reach him, I'll talk to someone else who can help us leave. Maybe I can say we still feel threatened and need to go to Europe. Or I could play it cool and say we want to go have a vacation there? You think? Or would that look weird since we just got asylum here?" He shook his head in frustration.

"Tell them we're afraid and need to get out," she replied. It was the truth. With a swallow, Christine nervously glanced around at the passing strangers, only feeling somewhat better when they were in their room again. Tired, they curled up on the bed together and stared at the television where the news was still giving reports about yesterday's awful events.

"Is anything going to happen today?" Raoul asked. "I mean, anything bad?"

Christine thought back. "No. Not for about four more days. But I don't remember where or what time exactly." She sighed. "I wish I could. I'll think harder. Maybe we could stop it."

"Maybe." She could tell by his weary frown, though, that Raoul was becoming as lost as she was. The expression 'in way over their heads' underestimated the situation.

They had dinner that evening and, again, the horrible feeling of being watched overtook her. It wasn't just paranoia; she knew it. "Raoul, I think we're being followed," she whispered on the way home. Christine could no longer keep it to herself.

There was a silence, and she was sure that Raoul would reassure her that everything was okay—that it was just her silly imagination. But, instead, he whispered back, "I kind of feel it, too." They exchanged a panicked glance and tightly held hands. Her heart was throbbing, and her face broke out into a cold sweat. _Erik had found her! _

They quickened their pace but didn't run, not wanting to draw too much attention or alarm the person who was watching them. It seemed like a miracle when they flew through the glass doors of their hotel and reached their room, both breathing heavily. Raoul switched on the nearest lamp, and she rushed to make sure no one was hiding in the bathroom or closet. Christine finally sat on the bed and buried her face in her hands. "Oh, God," she muttered. "Oh, God. What are we going to do? Do we run? We'd just be followed. But what if he comes here tonight? What are we going to do? What-?"

"Christine." Raoul wrapped his arms around her, and she buried her face in his shoulder. "Maybe it's all in our heads. Maybe we're both really on edge after what we found out."

"I don't think so. I know someone is watching."

"Then should we call the police?"

She hesitated. "I don't think that would do any good. Even if they believed us, it wouldn't matter."

"Then what do you want, Chris?" he asked with a touch of desperation.

Christine closed her eyes. Because there was really only one answer. And he wasn't going to like it. "Listen. Raoul." He looked at her, firm expression indicating he was ready for a fight. She exhaled and then forced out the words. "If he-if Erik appears tonight, you have to let me go to him. You have to stay back. Hide or run, if you can."

His eyes widened. _"_What?_ No!"_

"Yes!" she nearly snapped as fear gripped her. "He won't hurt me. I'm going to tell him that this was all my fault."

"Maybe I should try to find a gun."

"No. That would only make things a lot worse."

"Argh!" He threw up his hands in disgust. "I'm not letting him take you without some kind of fight!"

"It wouldn't be a fight." She could tell by his face that she'd offended him, but Christine didn't know what to say. The thought of him losing his life because of her was too much to take. That would finally break her. "I brought you into this. I'm not going to let you die over me."

Raoul still looked aghast. "You expect me to stand here and do nothing while this psychopath kidnaps you again?"

She placed her hands on his shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. "If it comes to that or you dying, then _yes_. Yes, you have to. And then you have to find Phillip. You both can try to stop all this. That's our hope. Promise me right now that, if he comes here tonight, you'll let me do what I have to."

"I can't—"

"Raoul, promise me you won't get yourself killed. Then we really do have no chance. You have to stay alive. Promise me."

He looked defeated as he muttered, "I promise."

She didn't know if she believed him. Probably not. Still, she said, "I'm going to tell you where all the evidence is now. That way, if I'm taken, at least you'll know. Then you can tell Phillip. Okay?" Clearly distressed, Raoul slowly nodded. With a shaky breath, Christine finally revealed the location of Erik's hideaway, feeling sick to her stomach the entire time. Raoul unsteadily jotted notes down on a white paper pad they'd found in the room. At one point, there was a thud near the door, and they both glanced up and gripped hands. Nothing happened; it was just another hotel guest. Christine continued with her instructions. "But don't ever go down there by yourself," she finished. "And don't let Phillip go down by himself. You have to get help."

"God," he whispered as they settled back onto the bed and plush pillows in a futile attempt to relax. He had one arm around her as she rested her head on his shoulder and placed one hand on his chest. His heart beat rapidly beneath her fingers. "This is all so effed' up beyond anything. I just want to get us out of here."

"I know. I never dreamed it was this horrible. If I had—" But Christine didn't even know the answer to that. If she'd known the extent of what was happening, what would she have done? Begged Erik? Screamed at him? Tried to hurt him? Or offered him anything he wanted if he just stopped this madness? She didn't know. And it was too late now to think about it.

Lying in each other's arms, she doubted either of them really slept that night. But no one ever came to take her away. So they survived another day and night.

"Maybe it was only in our heads," he again said as they went downstairs for breakfast, both tiredly still glancing over their shoulders for any stray shadows.

Christine didn't agree; she could still feel the ever watching eyes. But she was also beginning to have doubts about whom the intruder was. The presence that she felt now seemed so cold and indifferent. Being around Erik or even the Spirit, there had always been an electric warmth mixed with the coolness. Then again, maybe she'd made Erik so angry that there was no kindness remaining. That thought was utterly chilling.

She waited in the room for several minutes while he tried calling Phillip again, wringing her hands and fretting over his absence. It made her nervous to be alone for too long, and she also felt that her presence was the only thing that might protect Raoul. When the door squeaked opened, she jumped.

Raoul entered grinning. "There was static, but I heard Phil say he'd try to come up in a couple of days to help us. I think he's disturbed about how hard it is to talk, too. But he's coming up here! And we can tell him everything in person!"

She gasped and stood. "Will he make sure he's not followed?"

"I tried to tell him to be careful. He'll probably jump on a government flight at the last minute. Like we did." Raoul probably noticed her worried expression. "Chris, this is our best shot. He can arrange everything! We can tell him everything without being overheard! It's perfect!"

She rapidly nodded. "If it works, it would be. It'd be the best thing ever!" Could she even allow herself to hope?

"We'll make it," he said, giving her a long kiss. ""There's no one out there, Chris. We escaped those lunatics. Maybe they've screwed up the U.S. beyond all repair, but they haven't made it up here. We're getting out, and then we'll watch it unfold from a safe place in England and hope that Phil can put a stop to the entire thing."

She desperately tried to believe him, blocking out all other thoughts. She couldn't allow herself to think anymore; darkness would quickly invade her mind and threaten her sanity. If Raoul could safely lead them out of this nightmare, then she would hold his hand the entire way. There was nothing else that could be done- no other path or light to guide her.

They went out to dinner that night at a seafood restaurant, leaving early so they wouldn't get stuck walking home in the darkness. Despite Raoul's brave words, she could sense that, like her, he was still a little nervous. They settled down into a cushioned booth together and gazed over the laminated menu. That terrible sensation was stronger than ever.

Christine glanced around at the other customers. There was a mother and father with two well-behaved older children. Another couple in their twenties held hands across the table. And an attractive middle-aged man in a brown leather coat was sitting by himself at a table against the wall and reading a paperback book. He yawned, glancing up and nodding at her when she looked at him. His eyes were dark.

Christine shuddered.

"Something wrong?"

"No. I'm fine." She sipped her iced tea and then added some sugar to it.

The meal began with a bread basket and butter. She bit into the warm food gratefully, sighing in delight as it soothed her shattered nerves. Christine again looked at the man. His head was down, and he was still reading. _God, I'm getting crazy and paranoid…._

Soon came bowls of steaming clam chowder. "That looks good," said Raoul. He stood. "Bathroom. Be back in a sec."

"Okay."

From somewhere, she thought she heard the soft vibration of a cell phone. The other couple was laughing. The father was telling his son how airplanes worked. Christine dipped her silver spoon into the bowl, the light reflecting off the thick liquid. Slowly, she raised the soup to her lips.

In the time it took for her to blink, something hard slammed against her, knocking the spoon out of her fingers and onto the carpeted floor. Her hand throbbed in pain from the impact. She screamed. What now appeared to be a black-clothed arm then swept across the table and knocked both bowls of soup to the floor with a loud clatter. The green carpet was drenched in chunky white chowder. The perpetrator now stood with his back toward her, wearing a long, black coat. One look at his tanned hands and short fingers told her this was not Erik. Which meant she might be in more danger that she'd ever imagined.

"What the hell are you doing?!" she heard Raoul holler from a short distance away.

As her eyes focused, she saw the man who had been reading suddenly stand up at his small table and reach into his brown coat. His mouth was still drawn into a firm line, but his eyes seemed even darker, angrier. Before he could produce anything, the black-clad man pulled out a handgun. With another cry, Christine dropped beneath the table as two gunshots rang out into the restaurant. Blood splattered onto the floor beside the overturned soup. The man who had been reading slumped to the ground in front of her, bright red liquid streaming from his head. His cold, lifeless eyes stared blankly at her. Again, she screamed. Other customers were shrieking as well.

Soft footsteps followed. The door jingled open and thudded closed. Shouts and murmurs continued, and she was suddenly aware of Raoul kneeling beside her, gripping her arm and repeatedly asking, "Are you okay, Christine? Are you hurt? Chris? Can you hear me?"

She slowly looked up at him. 'I'm…fine," she whispered. "I—" She choked.

Raoul swallowed, terror in his eyes. "Was that-?"

"No. No, neither of them were," she whispered. Her eyes fell upon the dead man as people continued to panic around them. She vaguely heard the manager shout that he'd just called the police. "I'd never seen either of them."

"Then what was-?"

"I don't know." She shook her head as tears ran down her cheeks. "I have no idea at all." She paused. "But someone knows we're here."

* * *

It was a very last minute decision, brought about by a doll, which saved Cameron Lourdes' life.

The message had flashed across the screen.

_I will fear no evil, for you are with me._

Christine Daae was in Canada with Raoul Chagny. Cameron's worse fears were confirmed. He swallowed and clutched the phone, considering what his next instructions would be.

His first thought was that it would have to look like an accident. If it was discovered that the couple had been gunned down, Erik would instantly put the pieces together. No, it had to be subtle. A car crash. A light fixture falling on their heads. The plague.

Cameron fretted that Erik would still discover the truth. Or would her death drive simply him over the edge no matter what the circumstances?

Still, Christine's mere existence was also making Erik crazy. So Cameron intended to go through with the entire thing, knowing he would have to be very discreet in getting his message delivered. All this trouble over a stupid woman! If only Erik had learned to control her better, this never would have happened! Cameron would see to it that these problems were easily taken care of in his new society. No longer would the weaker sex be running amok and creating all kinds of ungodly havoc.

Still, a disturbed feeling haunted him.

Again, the message came across his screen. Maybe his contact thought he hadn't received the first one.

_I will fear no evil, for you are with me._

Cameron sighed and decided to sleep on it. Just as he had drifted off into an unsettling slumber, he heard the patter of little feet. He sat up alarmed as Abby ran into the room with wide eyes, pink nightgown billowing out around her. "Ghosts!" she exclaimed. "There are more ghosts, Poppy!"

To his relief, she never really remembered the details of that disturbing night with Erik. Cameron kept her in a bedroom close to his now and had several bodyguards stationed nearby. This time, he took his granddaughter quite seriously and followed Abby back into her room. He looked under the bed, in the closets, and behind the curtains. No one was there. Still, Cameron felt a chill in the air, a warning. _I'm watching you. _

"Erik?" he softly asked. "Are you in here?"

Abby looked up at him with wide eyes. "Is Erik the ghost's name?"

"Mm," Cameron muttered, continuing to search behind every large object in the room. Slightly shaking, he checked in the closet one more time, pushing back the child sized dresses. Someone tapped him on the back, and he jumped. Abby was standing there. "What?" he impatiently asked.

"You can give the ghost this as a present. Maybe then he'll go away." She held out an aged doll with tangled, matted blonde hair. Its blue eyes stared vacantly up at him. Cameron stared back.

"Thank you, Abby," Cameron murmured, slowly taking the object.

_I'm watching you…._

After tucking her in again and assuring her that there were no ghosts, Cameron returned to bed and considered all of his options again. If the girl mysteriously died, would Erik know he was responsible?

What if little Abby were right? What if Cameron gave Erik the doll back, and his sanity were restored? Well, not the doll but the girl. _But that girl can't be trusted! She'll find a way to ruin everything again! She's a danger to the entire Lord's mission! She's vile and unholy!_

The following day, as Cameron drove to the remote location to make the dreaded phone call, his mind continued to debate the problem. He glanced at the doll next to him in the passenger's seat. For whatever reason, maybe good luck, he'd brought Abby's toy. Its eyes stared blankly forward. Its blue eyes. Its _sightless_ eyes.

A realization slowly dawned over Cameron. There were ways of making Christine much less of a threat-of increasing her obedience without killing her. Cameron calmed a little bit at this thought. Would Erik see the logic in his idea?

_I'm watching you…._

Thinking it all through carefully, continuing to grow increasingly nervous, Cameron reached a small town that still had a few operational businesses. With his hat on and his face covered, he entered a dilapidated motel with shady guests and asked to use their phone for one hundred dollars. The toothless old man looked as though Cameron had just given him a free ticket into heaven. "Bless you," said Cameron with a condescending nod. Cameron then made the call.

"Well?" asked his contact with a touch of irritation.

"I want you to make the boy disappear, but it will have to look like an accident. Do you understand? The press coverage would be a nightmare. But the girl—I want you to bring her back here. Directly to me. Be very discreet."

There was a pause. "That's more effort than I was expecting with her. It will cost more. I'll have to knock her out and transport her."

"I'm willing to pay you. But it is necessary. Things are very, very complicated." He paused. "She's a very problematic girl. Sedate her in any way necessary."

"Fine. It should take a couple hours."

"Excellent. Let me know when the first part is complete." Cameron hung up with a sigh, feeling some relief now that the final decision was made. And he wouldn't have to deal with Erik ever discovering her murder-threatening his life and Abby's life. At some level, maybe the girl was the key to Erik's sanity. All he would have to do now was convince Erik that she would need to be _subdued,_ in a sense.

Cameron discreetly returned to his compound and headed into his office, stretching his arms over his head with a yawn. This had all become so complicated. But the difficulties would be well worth the results. All holy men had to deal with trials, of course. Working for the Lord was never an easy task.

He turned to stare out the window over his beautiful community, and it soothed his troubled heart. A woman was tending to her flowers as the sky darkened, oblivious to the butterflies. _Perfection. _Soon everyone would be like this. Joyful in God's country. It made his body very warm to think of it.

Until a pair of cold hands wrapped around his neck. A voice hissed into his ear. _"Call it off."_

"Erik…." He choked and sputtered, barely able to breathe.

"Call it off _now_."

"I'm not trying to k—"

"If you do not call it off, I will snap off your head and call it off myself! Do you understand, Mr. Lourdes?! _Call it off!_"

Cameron nodded his understanding. The hands loosened their grip, and Cameron shakily reached for his phone. His fingers fumbled over the keys as his heart pounded. _What if it were too late?_ He dialed. No one answered. He dialed again. No one answered. _Oh, Lord help me. Please answer!_ "I can't get anyone, Erik," he pled. "I'm trying! I swear that I'm trying. But I'm not going to hurt her!"

Without a word, Erik turned around and took out a phone. He pushed a single button. Frozen, they both waited in a terrifying silence, and then, a minute later, Erik's phone softly rang. "Well?" he answered. "Very good. You will be compensated." He hung up, back still toward Cameron. His bony shoulders moved up and down with each deep breath.

"What did you just do?" whispered Cameron, fearing for his life.

"I was forced to terminate it myself," Erik replied in a dangerously soft voice. "And now you will compensate my acquaintance for executing your much less capable contact." Eyes glowing with rage, Erik rounded on him.

"Erik, I only planned to bring her back here." _Thank God for that decision. Oh, thank God. _Cameron backed up into the nearest wall with a thud. "I wasn't planning to hurt her!"

"And you think I desired his hands on her? Is that what you planned, Cameron? That I would want Xavier transporting her unconscious over the span of two countries?! Is that what you anticipated, Mr. Lourdes?"

"Xavier? You knew him?" Cameron weakly asked.

"Oh, I was acquainted with Xavier and dozens like him! I know them all! And, yes, they do have their uses. But I do not want them within a hundred miles of my bride! They will dirty her with their filthy, detestable hands! Do you know what Xavier enjoyed doing to his victims? No, of course you don't, Cameron. You know so very little about anything. Your mind is the size of a walnut, isn't it?"

"I wasn't going to hurt her," Cameron emphasized.

"And that is why you are still breathing." Erik's voice turned into a whisper. He approached Cameron and grabbed him tightly by the shoulders, moving him away from the wall by ninety degrees. Cameron winced in pain as he stared upwards in horrified wonder. "Because if I had just overheard that you were trying to kill her-I would have to rapidly locate a new raving moron to be the face of the new country. Do you know how much time that would take? So much time, Cameron. So much time and patience." A pause. The grip tightened to the point of agony. "And. I. Have. So. Very. Little. Patience._ Left_!"

Cameron felt himself flying backwards through the air. He groaned in pain as he slammed against the farthest wall, crumpling to the floor and breathing heavily. "Erik—you're insane!" he gasped, rubbing his aching shoulder. "You're out of your mind over that girl!"

He watched Erik pace back and forth across the room with his masked face in his hands. "I told you not to interfere! And I don't want that boy dead. Not yet, Cameron. Not yet. I require him for a bit longer. I have use for him. And now you have likely sent both the children into a fright. And now I will have to take actions much quicker that I preferred. Thank you, Mr. Lourdes, for making this all so much more difficult than it really had to be! Thank you! "

"I was afraid they would tell the authorities about us," said Cameron, feeling safer sitting on the floor. "You were ignoring the issue!"

"They are children!" Erik roared, bring his arms against at pile of leather books and sending them crashing to the floor. "They are helpless infants! And they were lulled into a completely false sense of security until this! Are you completely stupid?"

"How dare you talk to me like this?! I am—"

"You are nothing," Erik whispered, towering over him with his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "You are _nothing _without me! It is high time you realize that." Erik stared down and continued to speak softly. "You will make speeches. And you can control the masses and make whatever antiquated autocratic rules make you happy. Do whatever you like to the rest of this loathsome nation! I don't care! But the girl as well as the Chagny family are mine. All mine. I will kill you if you interfere again. I will. I do not care how much trouble it will be. Do I make myself quite clear?"

"Yes," Cameron whispered, now desperately wanting Erik to just get out of his office. "Yes, I understand. I won't interfere with her."

"Good. Very good. This was a very…useful meeting, no?" Erik turned around. Both hands rose to clutch the sides of his head, and he seemed to take a long, deep breath. With a shudder, his arms dropped and he stood up very straight. "Oh, Christine," he whispered so that the words were barely audible. He tilted his head. "My beauty, you have made things spin too fast. Erik is dizzy again. Where did you go? I need _you _to make…everything…stop…spinning…." With another violent shudder, Erik slowly walked away, disappearing into the curtained hidden exit.

Breathing heavily, Cameron sat on the floor with wide eyes, still in pain and chilled to the bone.

_God help them all. _

* * *

The police questioned them along with the other customers. While it was their table that had been directly attacked, Christine and Raoul had little to offer without giving the authorities the entire story. The event looked like nothing but a strange run-in with organized crime, a territory dispute or a deal gone bad. Raoul appeared to be on the brink of telling them everything. "Maybe they'd get us protection," he muttered to her. "If they knew it all."

"Would they even believe us?" she whispered back. "Are you really going to tell them I escaped a cult that's about to destroy the United States? And I don't even understand what happened in there! I don't even know how to tie it to the Community."

He hesitated. "Well, we'd phrase it differently. Make it believable."

Before they could make a decision, a news crew showed up. Christine gasped. "We can't be on television! Raoul, we're too close to do anything right now."

"Yeah, you're right. Let's get out of here." The police wanted no more information, and so they managed to escape the scene before someone caught them on camera. Her heart was pounding wildly, and Raoul's expression was grim. "Are you sure that wasn't him?" he asked as they approached their hotel, both ready to leave the city immediately.

"I was engaged to Erik for three months!" she snapped in her terror. "I think I'd know if that were him."

"Then who was it?"

"I told you that I don't know!" She shook her head. "But…someone bad knows we're here." She shivered.

"All right. I'm going to call Phillip and tell him to come up here as soon as possible. That it's an emergency. And then you and I are leaving this city. We shouldn't stay in one place so long."

Even when everything was crumbling, Raoul was ready to move. After making sure she was secure in the room, he ran out to call his brother, and she again sat on the bed and nervously waited. When he returned, Raoul was frowning. "No one picked up. We'll have to try again later. Let's go!" They began to rapidly pack, tossing clothes haphazardly in their suitcases and probably leaving several items behind. "We'll catch a bus," said Raoul. "One leaves at seven, I think."

Adrenaline pushed them forward, and they didn't stop to catch their breath until a cab dropped them off at the bus terminal. She could no longer sense whether they were being watched, but a feeling in her stomach was telling her that they were in trouble. Events had been set into motion that night, and she could sense each domino falling over. "What if we have to keep running forever?" she whispered, nearly dizzy as she collapsed onto a plastic bench. She thought that, on the day they'd arrived in Canada, everything might finally be okay. Oh, how wrong she had been.

"Then that's what we'll do," he said, heavily sitting down next to her. Few other people were around, and the lights from above buzzed and case eerie shadows over them. Now that they'd stopped running, the air was cool on her warm skin.

She looked up at his tired face. "I'm so sorry I put you through this. If I would have known-"

"Chris, don't be sorry. I'm glad you told me everything, and I'm not going anywhere. I…you know, care about you. A lot. We'll make it." His words put a lump in her throat. She couldn't even eat the chocolate snack cake he soon handed her with a tired smile. "Dinner. Figured a vending machine is safer than a restaurant."

"Thanks. I'll save it for later." Christine stuffed it into a suitcase pocket where the cake was obviously squashed.

Raoul scoffed. "I put all that effort into getting dinner, and it's completely unappreciated."

She squinted in disbelief and then realized he was teasing her, probably trying to ease her fear and kill the tension. Christine played along. "Really? How many buttons did you have to push on the vending machine?"

"At least two."

"Poor Raoul. I bet it really strained your fingers."

"It did. You might have to get dinner tomorrow night."

"Cameron always said that was the woman's duty," Christine replied with a cheeky smile.

"Then I think I'll cook every night just to spite Cameron. I make an awesome grilled cheese."

Christine laughed and wiped a tear away. "I can't wait to try it." He put an arm around her and kissed the top of her head. She slept on his shoulder throughout the bus ride, having no idea whether they were being trailed or what would happen next or even where they were going. Raoul stayed wide awake, ever vigilant.

During a twenty minute break stop, he nudged her and stood. "Time to call Phil again," he said. "You can stay here if you want. I'll be right back."

"No, I'll go with you." She didn't want to be alone. Her head was cloudy, and her legs were shaky. The air was cold and dark, and she shivered. They were able to use phones at the mostly empty bus terminal. More awake than she was, Raoul eagerly picked it up and dialed. She leaned in to hopefully hear Phil say that he would be there soon, that he was coming to save them. The phone rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

Someone picked up, and Raoul opened his mouth to speak. But the other person spoke first. The line was clear. There was no static now.

There was only the Voice.

"Good evening, Mr. Chagny. I believe you have something of mine." A pause. "And so I have acquired something of yours."


	24. Chapter 24

Lovely and very interesting comments across a very wide range—everything from reviewers who pretty much hate Erik to people asking for E/C to everything in between. Wow. No matter what you're feeling right now, thank you for your thoughts. They helped me flesh out and develop some of these next chapters.

So this chapter. Did everyone remember to bring a Xanax?

**Read and Review!**

_"And so I have acquired something of yours."_

The color drained from her face and the air left her lungs. Her stomach dropped as though the floor had fallen out from underneath her feet. Somehow, her hand found Raoul's arm, and she clutched it, untrimmed fingernails digging into his skin. "No." The silent word escaped her lips.

"Who the hell is this?" Raoul asked, the volume of his voice rising. "Where's Phillip?"

"It will be somewhat of a loss on my end if you do not make the exchange," Erik continued calmly. "You are obviously quite content with my sweet bride. But a Senate candidate is something that I have little use for."

"You—"

"Return her to me, and your brother will be fine. Otherwise, he will not be, and we will try this game again with someone whom you hopefully value a bit more."

"You evil son of a bitch! Leave my brother alone! I'll kill you! I'll- You…you…." Raoul sputtered as his face turned red, features twisted more by terror than anger. "I'll kill you," he hoarsely pled.

Christine grabbed the phone from Raoul's shaking hand before he made things even worse. "Erik!" she yelled into the receiver, her voice catching. If they'd been face to masked face, Christine doubted that she could have been as brave as she was in that moment. "Stop this! I'll come back! Leave Phillip alone! You can't do this!" But he could. And he was.

A long, uncomfortable pause followed. "My beauty. It is _so _good to hear your voice again. I have missed it so dearly. I really have. I have missed you very much." His tone was softer and gentler, almost hypnotic. "And you—you missed your wedding, didn't you? Ah. These last weeks have been unpleasant for your poor Erik. All because of that wretched boy."

"It was my choice to go! I asked for Raoul's help! Because of what you've done! Everything you've done, Erik! How could you? How could you?! You-" She was about to launch into a long and angry tirade, but now wasn't the time for that. Raoul's brother was in mortal danger. She attempted to regain her composure. "Leave Phillip alone. If you want to hurt someone, hurt me!"

"Why would I ever harm you?" He sounded genuinely horrified. "I _love_ and adore you. These are his sins, and you merely became caught up in his child's games. Yes, this is a transaction between Mr. Chagny and myself. So let him decide, my love. Say twenty-four hours to consider it? That is fair, I think. More fair than he has been to me. Poor Erik had no time to consider whether he wanted his bride taken from him."

Tears ran down her cheeks. "Why are you doing this?! I told you it was my decision! Erik, stop this. Stop all of it…."

"I miss you, my beauty. I hope that I will see you very soon. He has twenty-four hours to inform me of his decision."

The line went dead. The dial tone was cold and empty.

"No," she whispered. The phone dropped from her hand with a clatter. "Oh no. No, no, no."

Raoul's face was buried in his hands, the tips of his fingers rubbing his forehead. "I'll kill him," he muttered.

"This is all my fault. I never should have dragged you into it. Or we should have taken your family and the Girys with us. I was so stupid not to see that. So stupid!"

"You're not," he weakly replied, leaning against the wall for support. "You know that…." Raoul shook his head and picked up the phone again, dialing the numbers with a shaking finger. Christine leaned into listen again. It rang twice, and then a woman's frantic voice answered, "Phillip?"

"No, Mom. It's me."

"Raoul?! Oh my God! Are you okay? Where are you? You ran off so fast, and-I don't know what to do." She sounded near tears.

"I'm okay. Don't worry." He paused and then hesitantly asked, "You haven't seen Phillip recently, have you?"

"I can't get a hold of him! I was talking to him five hours ago or so, and he said he thought someone was at the door. So I waited for him while he answered it, but he never came back after that! The line went dead." Raoul's face paled as his mother's words confirmed everything. "I know he's busy, but he's never done something like that to me before. I don't know what he was thinking! And where are you?!"

"I'm safe. Don't worry about me right now. I just need you to be safe, too."

"I don't know what to do," Judy repeated. "It's getting so scary here again. I don't know if the police are still operational. I don't know if anyone's around to help!"

"Is there any way for you to get out of the country?"

"I might be able to find a flight, but I'm scared to leave our neighborhood."

"Okay. Do you know where Meg and Caroline are?"

"Yes. I've had them over for dinner twice. Meg is wonderful. Caroline is…a little strange sometimes."

Raoul made a sound that could only be described as a broken laugh. "I know, Mom. She is. But listen. I want you to take them into your home, and I want you all to stay there together. Do you remember what Phillip keeps in the bottom left drawer of his office desk?"

"Yes," she shakily whispered. "But I can't use a gun. I haven't tried since Ethan took me to a range when we started dating. I don't remember very much."

"Get it out anyway. Maybe Caroline or Meg will have some idea. If not, just keep it out. If anyone tries to break in there, you might have to use it. Understand? You guys have to protect yourselves. Then, I want you all to pack your things and start calling some of Phil's and Dad's friends. You know, all the well-connected people. Tell them you're scared. The second someone offers to get you out of the country, take it. Okay? You and Meg and Caroline all need to get out of there!"

"What are you going to do?"

"Don't worry about that right now. Like I said, get out of there when you can. I'll meet you anywhere later."

"Okay. We'll try. I'm so scared. I wish you or Phillip or…your father were here."

"I know, but it'll be okay. Phil and I will be okay. I have to go now, all right? Protect yourself."

"I love you, Raoul. Please stay safe. And let me know if you hear from Phillip."

"I will. I'll call you again when I can." He thickly swallowed. "I love you, too, Mom."

He placed the phone down with a heaving sigh, his shoulders slumping. Christine rested a hand on his arm and gently squeezed it. Her heart ached as she felt the burden of responsibility for all Judy's pain. Raoul's entire family was in danger because of her. They were silent for several minutes, both staring off into space. She then said softly, "We have to go back. Or I do."

"We can't…." Raoul looked nauseated.

"You know we have to. Your family, Raoul! I'm not letting them die because of me!"

"I can't just deliver you into that monster's hands. No. I won't!" He pounded a fist against the plaster of the wall, sending white particles to the floor.

"What about your brother?"

"I'll figure something else out. A fake trade. Surround the area with police. Something, Christine. We have to do something!"

She shook her head and tried to keep her voice steady, despite the panic welling up inside her chest. One of them had to be reasonable. "What you need to do is get Phillip back by any means. You should tell him everything that I told you. You two can try to stop all this!" Christine reached for the phone. "I'm calling…_him_ now to say we're coming."

He gently grabbed her hand to stop her. "Please, Chris. Let's think this through. The bastard gave us twenty-four hours, right? Let's try to think of something."

She sighed and nodded in resignation, her arm dropping back to her side. They were silent as they made their way to a hotel, no longer concerned about keeping their identities concealed. Erik had won even without following them. Christine couldn't dwell on where she might be in one or two days-what her final fate might be. All that mattered was making sure Raoul and his family were safe. That was what she had to keep her focus on if she wanted to stay sane.

When they reached their room, Raoul sat on the blue and white floral printed bedspread and stared at the floor. She turned on one very dim lamp. He looked so horribly forlorn. Christine wished she'd never asked for his help so as to never put him through this nightmare. It hadn't even mattered in the end.

_But you know now….At least you know everything. _Yes, at least she wouldn't be a naïve child when it came to the truth about the Community. And she'd also learned about how romance could be. Laughter and teasing smiles and soft touches and stolen kisses. Whatever happened, Christine would keep the memories close to her heart. Maybe it wasn't all for nothing—so long as Raoul and his family survived.

Christine placed her hand against his cheek and guided his face so that he was looking into her eyes. "Raoul."

"I wanted to help you escape so badly," he said, finally meeting her gaze. "I still do. I want to take you over the ocean and never look back."

She smiled sadly at him. "We have to go back and make things right." He frowned and said nothing, glancing at the floor again. "Raoul, you know we have to. Your family." Leaning forward, she gently kissed him on the corner of his mouth."Whatever happens, I'll be okay. I'll…live."

He looked at her again. Placing his hand behind her head, Raoul pulled her forward and pressed his lips directly against hers. Reclining on the soft bed, they continued to kiss, long and slow at some points and frantic and desperate at others. She could feel the warm skin of his back beneath his shirt and his rapidly beating heart. His hands raked through her tangled hair. Cupping his face, she was nearly on top of him now, kissing him deeply as his hands ran down her back and over her hips. And then he moved so that he was atop her, his lips trailing over her cheek, throat, and neck. His hands skimmed against her chest.

Finally, he drew back and stared down at her, and she was barely able to see his face in the dim light. Christine hesitated as her breath caught in her throat. And then she gently pressed against his chest to put him on his back and lay atop him once more, her head on his shoulder. Her hand rested on his cheek, and she stroked it with her fingertips. She whispered, "I want my…first to be when there's hope and happiness to look forward to in the morning. Not all this fear and sadness; it's too painful. It's too fast and desperate. I don't want that memory."

"Me neither, Chris," he murmured. He tucked a blonde strand behind her ear and continued to run his fingers through her hair.

Christine wondered if, after he fell asleep, she should sneak out and return to the United States by herself. She could call Erik and tell him she was coming back alone—but only if Phillip were released to his family. Surely, Erik would arrange all transportation. And Raoul would be out of danger. It seemed like the best idea even though the thought sent renewed waves of fear over her. _You have to hold it together, Christine. You just have to get back and make sure everyone stays alive._

With a shaky breath, she pretended to only be rolling off of Raoul and to her own side of the bed. He murmured her name. When he seemed to be soundly asleep again, Christine quietly stood up and found her suitcase. Very little was unpacked. Who really cared if she left anything behind? None of this would matter in mere days….

She hesitated in the doorway. She should leave him a note, telling him to stay where it was safe until Phillip was released—to not follow her. Her hand fumbled for the black pen and white pad on the desk. A hand touched her shoulder, and she turned to see Raoul staring at her with confusion. Apparently, she wasn't very good at being quiet. "What are you doing?"

"I…." She sucked in her breath. "I think I should go back alone."

"No," he protested. "You can't do that, Chris."

"I don't want to put you in danger." She bit her lip to keep from crying again. "It might be safer this way."

"I'm at least coming back to the country with you. Okay? You don't have to take this on all alone."

"But—"

"Let me go as far as I can with you. Please."

Pressing her lips together, she nodded. "Okay. But we have to go back and save your family tomorrow. We have to."

"I know," Raoul whispered. "I know. We'll do something. We'll try."

So she stayed and allowed him to lead her back to the bed, maybe knowing deep down inside that it wasn't the best decision. Christine supposed she could have been cruel-told him she didn't want him around any longer, wished to break up their relationship. But Raoul wouldn't have believed her at that point anyway. He was determined that they be doomed together, it seemed, holding her against his chest the rest of the night. Neither of them really slept.

She sat up in the early morning hours, before there was light in the sky, unready to embrace what the day held. "It's time to make the call," she whispered. "I don't want to wait anymore. Whatever happens, we have to tell Erik we're coming back."

"All right," he reluctantly muttered. Raoul took out his cell phone and stared down as though it might bite off his hand.

"Do you want me to m-make the c-call?" She fumbled over her words. "Maybe he'll be more patient with me."

"I'll make it."

"Okay. But just be direct," she pled. "Don't make him angrier. We have to make sure your family is safe."

"I know." He slowly dialed his brother's number, grimly staring forward as he held the phone to his ear. Christine leaned in to listen, heart beating quickly again.

"Good morning, Mr. Chagny." Erik answered after two rings. There was a clear note of victory in his voice, and she could see Raoul glare as he noticed it as well. "Have you considered the terms of the transaction?"

"Yes." Raoul nearly spit out the poisoned word.

"And?"

"We're coming back. So don't touch my brother. Got it?"

"A wise decision, boy. Very wise. You will go so far in this intricate world." The sarcasm in the statement was painfully evident. "Now listen carefully to my instructions. I am sending the details of your flight. All is paid for and arranged. I have made this very convenient for you, Mr. Chagny. Nothing in your pathetic little life has ever been more straightforward. After your flight arrives, you will take a cab to your next destination. That has also been arranged; you needn't give the driver any information. And then a black car will deliver you from there. Am I clear? Any attempt to diverge from these instructions will not be good for anyone's health, so I suggest you follow them closely."

She clenched her jaw and spoke. "Just me, Erik. _I'll _take the black car. And then you have to let Phillip go." Raoul shot her a distressed glance.

"The black car is only for you." Once again, his voice softened. "It will ensure you a comfortable drive to your home."

"And Raoul will be safe?" she pressed.

"All will go as arranged."

"Erik, you're not answering my question. If I come back, tell me that Raoul and Phillip will be safe!"

"Be calm, my love. Despite the boy's treacherous actions these last weeks, they will live. They will. Once you are here, all will be as it should be again. We are agreed?"

"Yes," she whispered, closing her eyes.

"Excellent. I will see you very soon, Christine."

"Go to hell!" Raoul hung up and flung the phone to the side where it bounced once on the mattress. She was too shaken to reprimand him. The inevitable path continued to unwind, and there was no turning back now.

True to his word, Erik electronically sent Raoul the necessary information to get them there as fast as possible. With a bitter expression, Raoul clicked through it. "Is it all there?" she softly asked.

"Yes." She didn't take offense at his clipped and cold answer, unable to imagine how Raoul must be feeling right now.

They said little to each other as they headed for their flight late that morning at the closest airport, unable to admit that this was their final defeat. Still, they tightly held hands throughout the journey, giving each other a reassuring squeeze every so often. Very few people were on their final plane to the United States. Who would want to go back to that madness? "You guys trying to get relatives out, too?" asked one older man seated behind them.

"Something like that," Raoul muttered. He stared forward, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed.

The man continued speaking. "I've got my brother and niece down there. Hoping to get everyone into Canada. The paperwork has been a nightmare but better that than to hide their illegally, right? Never thought I'd see the day when it all fell apart." He tsked three times.

The moment grew nearer and nearer. Her fear worsened as her stomach turned, but she tried not to show her fright on the outside. If Raoul knew she was terrified, he'd be even more hesitant to save his brother. Christine closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. _Find hope. Find something to hold onto or you will lose your mind. _

_Music. _Yes, the music was always beautiful. There was nothing comparable to Erik's singing or the piano; she had often become lost in the notes. She remembered contentedly sitting on the sofa and knitting as he played. And reading at the kitchen table as he cooked her breakfast. And the walks. And the chats about everything from world history to the origin of languages to biology to every other possible topic as they'd strolled along holding hands. Everything he said was new and fascinating. Her words, that she'd forced herself to forget until now, had not been empty lies.

_"Erik…I always felt kind of doomed after my father brought me to the Community. I felt so trapped, and my future didn't seem like it could ever be happy. But you've given me a lot more. The chance to learn so many things. And to sing. And I love talking to you. And so…I…I'll be your wife. And I think that…maybe…we could be happy." _

But the horrible problem was that-as Erik played and taught her and met most of her requests—he was also making other people's lives utterly miserable. That was the true horror. He placed her upon the highest golden pedestal, showering her with gifts and affection, while he simultaneously stomped on the rest of the world. With all his magnificent genius, which in the hands of another might have brought such good to humanity, Erik chose to bring an entire country to its knees. He could kill without hesitation, devastate an entire family. And she could never, ever forget these things now. They were forever burned into her memory.

Was there any possibility of influencing Erik once she returned? Did she have any chance if she begged him to stop this madness? Did she have any bargaining chips? Christine closed her eyes, truly overwhelmed by the thought of confronting him about all his terrible crimes. Because, if Erik didn't listen to her, then she would have to hope that Raoul and Phillip figured out a way to stop the destruction of the country. And that would certainly result in even more terrible violence and death.

When she opened her lids, she realized with dread that they were almost there. Raoul's expression was still firm, but his hands were clenched and his eyes glanced back and forth in a panic. When the plane landed, they grabbed the bags they had carried on and shakily walked out with the few other people. The airport was half empty; many of the shops and restaurants that had once been there were now dark and closed. "I'll take the taxi with you," he muttered as they headed in the direction of the escalator for ground transportation. It wasn't functional; they would have to walk down.

"But not the black car." Her heart was pounding into her throat. She could barely breathe.

"We'll see."

She turned to him and stopped walking. "No, Raoul. You have to let me go by myself at that point. I'll be fine."

He stared at her with an intensity that made her squirm. "Will you? Will you be fine, Christine? What will happen to you if you go back there? Seriously?"

"It doesn't matt—"

"Yes, it does! What will happen to you?"

"I'll…just be stuck in a basement house for awhile. That's all. Like-Oh, what's it called? Being grounded for a long time. Haha." She was desperately trying to make light of it for his sake, but her voice again caught in her throat, and it didn't come out very reassuring.

Raoul closed his eyes. "Will you be forced into marriage?"

"I don't know." He could likely hear the answer in her tone. Grabbing her hand, Raoul led her to the escalator, and they walked down it to the next level. Instead of heading toward the area for taxis and buses, though, he strode quickly in the opposite direction, pulling her behind him. His eyes were full of resolve. "What are you doing?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"I'm not doing it."

"Raoul—"

"_I'm not doing it!" _He looked angrier than she'd ever seen him. "Phillip wouldn't want it. Him being used as a pawn to turn you over to some evil—"

"Raoul, calm down." She stopped walking and jerked him backwards. "Your brother! We have to think about this."

"I have thought about it. I thought about it the entire flight. And I'm not doing it."

* * *

Raoul couldn't do it. The thoughts had haunted him throughout the plane ride. And then Christine had just unintentionally given him the final answer. The decision was made, and there was no going back.

_Forced marriage._

_What exactly did that mean for her?_

_No. No way in hell. _

The hate he would feel toward himself for delivering her, his childhood friend and the girl he loved, into that sort of horror would be just as bad as the guilt he'd feel if his brother died. There was no good option now. And so he took her hand and marched forward. Raoul would still try to save his brother. He would try with all his being and with Christine beside him.

"You're insane!" she snapped at him, eyes darting back and forth. Still, he heard a note of confused gratitude intermingled with the anger, which further cemented his decision. He was tired of her attempting to put on a brave face when it was so easy to tell that she was crumbling inside. Someone had to save her. "Phillip will die. Don't you understand? He'll die! Just like Anthony!"

"I'm going to try to stop it," he replied. "But Phil wouldn't want me to give into those goddamned terrorists. I know it. So we are going to try to save him. And no matter what happens, this was the right thing to do. Okay? I know it is."

"You're so stupid," she said in a choked voice. "You're going to get hurt! You're going to get hurt all because of me!" She stood there looking utterly lost. "I don't know. I don't know what to do."

"Stay with me. I'm in this till the end. I love you, for God's sake. Okay? I love you. I'm not leaving you." She softly moaned. He took a deep breath and glanced around. "We need a car. It'll be nice to be in control of our transportation again."

Her lip trembled. "Where are we going?"

"To an old friend of my dad's. He's a good guy, and people really liked him when he was in office. I think he can help. He has the same connections that Phillip has."

"What are you going to say to him?"

"First, that Phil has been kidnapped. And then everything else. I'm telling him everything. And then he can tell everyone he knows. And maybe the military will storm down below to that…place you mentioned and end this."

"We're in so, so much danger." She looked around frantically. "I don't think we'll make it."

"We will. Just need a car. Right?" He gave her a lopsided smile.

"Oh, God. Raoul, you're so…."

"Insane and stupid. I know." With her hand in his, he began to walk again. "Do you still hate peanut butter, Christine Daae?"

"Yes. It's…sticky and icky." She weakly laughed at the memory. And, after one last glance behind her, Christine warily allowed him to lead her forward.

He was able to rent a midsized car without a surcharge for his young age. Like every other place, car rental agencies were desperately struggling for business and just happy to see a customer. It was one of the few easy things that had occurred during their journey. As there was already a paper trail behind them indicating they'd arrived at the airport, one last transaction didn't seem to matter. Raoul chose a midnight blue vehicle, hoping to blend into their surroundings at night. After looking up the address of his father's friend, he grabbed Christine's hand and they again made their escape. Her eyes were wide, and she gripped the sides of the leather seat until her fingers turned white.

"It'll be okay," he constantly reassured her. Raoul switched the radio to a soft rock station and held the steering wheel tightly. It was about an hour later, as the sun started to set, that he knew he was a little lost. From barbeques and family gatherings, he vaguely remembered the enormous home of his father's friend. It was a magnificent house, made of dark grey stone and with a balcony in every bedroom. Raoul also knew that the man still resided in the United States. Although he was no longer in office, he would still attend conferences with Phillip to discuss and address the problems plaguing the nation.

_I'll tell you exactly what's wrong with the country. I'll give you his address and take you there myself….._

First, Raoul needed to find the place, though. "All right," he murmured, pulling over to a gas station. "I need to stop and look at the map again."

She nodded, still obviously nervous. "I need to use the bathroom."

They both climbed out and went into their respective restrooms. Raoul waited for her outside, browsing over a paper map to find the location. He waited and waited. Disturbed, he finally poked his head into the girls' bathroom, hoping not to upset any other women. "Chris?" One glance told him that the cracked stalls were all empty. His heart jumped into his throat. Had she gone back to the car by herself?

Raoul raced outside and glanced at the dark vehicle. No one was in the front or backseat. But a monarch butterfly was perched on the roof. Was it-?

Frantic now, Raoul looked around, finally seeing her down the street, blonde hair glinting in the moonlight. They were on the edge of a wooded area, and she was limply standing beside a large pine tree, staring outward into the pitch blackness. "Christine? What the heck?" He ran toward her and grabbed her arm. "What are you doing?" When she didn't respond, he turned her around to face him. Her eyes were half-closed, and an eerie close-lipped smile played across her face, even more distorted by the shadows. "Christine?"

"The Spirit," she mumbled. "He asked me to help him."

Raoul swallowed nervously. "There is no Spirit. Remember? Let's get back inside the car, baby."

"Mm? But the Spirit said I should help. There's so much to do before…."

He grabbed her shoulders and gently shook her. "Chris! Wake up! There is no Spirit! It's not real!" _What was wrong with her?!_

The jolting movements seemed to awaken her. A grunt emerged from her throat, and she stared up at him with wide, confused eyes before glancing from side to side. "Raoul, what are we doing over here?"

He sighed in relief. "You were sleepwalking or something. It was weird. Maybe you need some rest."

Christine shivered. "I felt so strange. Like I was in a dream or something. And, right before I went into the bathroom, I remember looking in this direction. My head started buzzing, and—" Christine seemed to sense something. She twitched and then turned back toward the forest. Her face became white. "No," she whispered.

Raoul looked in that direction. At first he thought it was just a tall shadow, a swaying tree or something out of nature. But it moved toward them, floating forward like a ghost. Two yellow lights accompanied it. Eyes. Yellow eyes. He was certain that his heart stopped for several seconds. "Is that-?"

"Yes." Her little voice was carried away in the breeze. He cursed beneath this breath, watching the figure descend upon them, frozen as though hypnotized. Christine snapped out of her stupor first and turned to him. "Raoul, get out of here!" She grabbed his shoulders and tried to push him backwards. "Run! Go! Get in the car and go! Please go! Go! _Go!_"

"No. No, I'm not going anywhere." He wasn't a coward. Trying to ignore his terror, Raoul stepped in front of her, blocking her from the path of the wraith.

"No," she whispered. "Raoul. No…."

Finally, the figure stopped about ten feet in front of them. "Mr. Chagny, I presume?" The voice sent shivers down Raoul's spine. Again, he could easily understand why Christine once thought that the source had been supernatural. "I am utterly delighted to finally make your acquaintance. The pleasure is truly all mine."

He forced the unnatural echoes from his mind. "You're not laying a damned hand on her."

"Raoul," she continued to whisper in his ear. "No! Get back! Get behind me!" Then Christine spoke to _him _in a raspy tear-choked voice_._ "Erik, I'm here now. So leave him alone. Give him his brother and leave them alone. I'll come with you!"

"Yes, I will take you home, my beauty," Erik said in a strangely gentler voice. "You must be very tired from your long journey. Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Where's Phillip?" Christine asked with a touch of anger.

"Unfortunately, the younger Mr. Chagny didn't follow my instructions." Raoul's heart plunged. "Yet the elder Chagny brother is alive. But I am making some necessary modifications to this already broken transaction. They will both remain in my custody for reasons I have deemed necessary."

"No!" Christine yelled, poking her head out from behind Raoul's back. "You leave them alone, and I'll come with you. That was our deal, Erik!"

"The boy invalidated the agreement with his recent actions." Erik took a step toward them.

"No," Christine moaned. "No. Leave him alone! Raoul, get back! Run! _Run!_"

"Get away from her, you fucking monster!" Raoul growled, intense anger overcoming all of his fear. He reached down and grabbed a large chunk of cement that had broken off from the sidewalk. Even if he could stun the bastard just long enough for them both to run back to the car, that would be enough….

Erik softly chuckled. "Boy, I have nothing more to say to you. You are so entirely insignificant that I will not waste any more words." He walked toward them with quick easy strides. With all the force he could muster, Raoul hurled the cement directly toward Erik's head. In one smooth movement, Erik deflected the heavy object with the back of his gloved hand, sending it to the dirt ground with a loud thud. A blinding flash of white light illuminated the trees and street. And then there was only pure and unrelenting pain as scorching electric fire surged through Raoul's body, burning into his veins and throughout his limbs. He groaned and fell to his knees, jerking and twitching in utter agony. It was beyond belief—threatening to take away his consciousness and control. When the pain finally ceased, he was on his back and staring up at the night sky, at the twinkling stars and milk-white moon.

Christine was screaming. _No! No, he had to save her!_ Still half-paralyzed from literal shock, he moved his head to search for her. She was unharmed and still standing. Raoul realized that she was only shouting on his behalf.

"Stop!" she shrieked, now shielding Raoul with her arms spread out at her sides. Erik loomed over her, mere feet away. "Stop it! Don't hurt him anymore! Please! Please! I'll do anything! Just leave him alone! Take me, and leave him alone!"

"Run," Raoul whispered, struggling to sit up onto his elbows. But he doubted that she heard him.

Erik spoke. "Now we will return home. To our home. Yes, my love?"

"Yes! I told you I was coming!" She was sobbing violently now. "Just leave him alone, Erik! Stop! Please stop!"

"Calm yourself, my dear. You need to rest. You appear tired and very unwell. I do not think he has taken good care of you during your little escapade, has he? But I will. I will take very good care of my wife, despite this minor setback. All will be as it should be once again."

Erik walked forward and stood over them both. The masked figure leaned down, and Raoul stared in horror as those hate-filled yellow eyes came closer and closer. Christine shrieked again. "No! Leave him alone!"

In a whisper, Erik said, "And, Mr. Chagny, despite all of this unnecessary trouble that you created—I may yet invite you to my wedding. That is very generous of me, eh?"

Something cold pricked his arm. "No," Raoul groaned as he faded from consciousness. "Leave her—"

When he finally awoke, he was on a thin, metal cot and surrounded by four dismal concrete walls. There were no windows, only one dim overhead bulb. He could physically move again, but he could go nowhere. The door was firmly locked; there was no way out.

_They had lost. _

_They had lost everything. _


	25. Chapter 25

**Love all the reviews. No worries, everyone. I'm used to writing semi-controversial Eriks. There are also some boundaries that I never cross while other writers do, so everyone has their own fine lines. **

**Possibly the darkest E/C chapter of the entire story. Which means, yes, we will begin a *very* slow uphill climb soon. **

**Read and Review!**

Twigs and leaves crunched beneath her dirty tennis shoes; _his_ footsteps were silent. Dark and twisted trees surrounded Christine on all sides; he stayed just slightly behind her. His voice calmly guided her, controlled her simply because her mind was too exhausted to resist. And what else would she do? Run? That had worked so well….

"Forward, my love. Simply go forward. Now slightly to the left. We will be there soon. Are you cold? There is a blanket in the car."

Behind them, she heard a soft rustling and whispers. Her head jerked around, and she watched as two indiscernible figures in black grabbed Raoul's unconscious body beneath the arms and began to drag him away. She gasped. And she couldn't help but ask, "What will happen to him? Where are they taking him?"

"He will live. That is all you must know." Erik's voice was cool.

"Will he be hurt?"

"He will be ignored because he is utterly insignificant. I suggest you push him from your mind immediately. The less you think or talk of him, the better his health."

_I should have come back here by myself. I never should have brought Raoul. Stupid, Christine. He'll probably end up dead, all because of you. What did you think would happen? Did you think Raoul and Erik would calmly shake hands and make the exchange? Stupid, Christine. _

A monarch butterfly flitted around them in a circle, its wings gliding in the cold night air as it celebrated the capture of the runaways. Knowing what she did, maybe she should have been horrified by the black and orange insect. Or maybe Christine had run out of terror when she'd watched as Raoul sank to his knees in agony, twitching and barely able to cry out as he was electrocuted by one of Erik's devices. She'd thought that Erik would slay him right in front of her. But, for now, Raoul lived. The monarch hovered beside her head.

For whatever reason, she suddenly longed for her mother. Although it'd been over a decade since her death, she was whom Christine wanted right now. Maybe it was because the men that had touched her life—her father, Cameron, Erik, and even poor, dear Raoul—had each made decisions that had led her to this moment. And so Christine longed for the serene and thoughtful smile of a woman she barely knew.

Butterfly garden. That was why she thought of her mother.

"_First, we'll dig holes to plant the flowers. Try not to get too much dirt on you. Aw! Well, there goes that shirt. Oh, well." _

Another frightened glance backward. Where did they take Raoul?

"_Give me your hand now. I'll put seeds in there. Oops. Don't drop them. There you go." _

She was in a black car now with a cotton blanket spread over her legs. Erik was beside her. And it was so dark that she could barely see her trembling hands in her lap. The man who glanced back at her from the driver's sheet wore sunglasses despite the nighttime and a black handkerchief over his mouth; it wasn't their normal driver. He frightened her.

"_There. We planted a butterfly garden. Very good job. You'll come take care of it for me next spring? I knew you would."_

"Go," commanded Erik. The man nodded, and she was jerked forward with the car.

"_I'm proud of you, Christine. You're so smart and talented. I want you to promise me that you'll stay in school and follow all your dreams. And then, if you want, you can find someone who you love and want to spend your life with. Oh, sweetheart—sweetheart, don't cry. I'll watch over you. Whatever you decide, I know you'll do wonderful things. I love you so much." _

Christine choked back tears.

_I'm sorry, Mom. But Dad took me out of school; I think he kind of lost his mind after you died. We left, and I never took care of the garden. And Cameron wouldn't let me have any dreams. And love—I think I'm too exhausted to love anyone ever again. I wish you were here. Maybe you'd know what to do. Because I don't. I don't anymore…._

Christine refused to look at him for most of the drive, staring out the window with her arms crossed against her chest as her heart beat frantically. Weak, helpless—and positively furious. She did glance at him once, only to see that Erik was staring directly at her, forever watching. Christine flinched and looked away again.

"Your room is ready for you," he said as they neared the city. "I have barely touched it. I knew you would return soon. I always knew you would return after your child's adventure was over."

She didn't acknowledge him. She would either start crying again and make herself even more vulnerable-or she would blow up into a hysterical and angry mess, thereby dooming Raoul and Phillip. So she was a statue. It was safest to be a statue.

They passed the normal alleyway where she thought they would enter Erik's underground abode. He must have seen her glance back in surprise. "My dear, I do not know how discreet you have been with our secrets," he murmured. "In your excitement during your little journey, you might have said things you shouldn't have. I forgive you of course, but I also must take the necessary precautions. But, my dear, will you tell Erik how many individuals now know our secrets?"

_Our _secrets? She glared. She wanted to tell him that the entire army would now show up, but spiteful lies might make things worse. And so she told a protective lie. "I didn't tell anyone."

"Do not lie to me. I know you told that boy. Look into my eyes, and tell me the truth."

She gritted her teeth and turned toward Erik. "Just Raoul," she muttered before turning away again.

The name seemed to make him momentarily tense, but then Erik nodded. "Very good. That is what I thought. Still, precautions are necessary. We will go through the theater entrance." The car stopped with a jolt, and she was staring at the field through which she'd escaped. The grass swayed back forth, whispering and rustling in the wind. She was again reminded that her desperate attempt hadn't even mattered—had made things worse now that the Chagny brothers were in danger. How would she ever save them now?

Erik again walked behind her through the dark grasslands, the vegetation crunching beneath her feet. But something was wrong.

She blankly stared at the field, trying to determine whether she was completely disoriented. "Where's the theater?" she whispered. Had Erik knocked the entire thing down in mere days?

He laughed softly. "Still there. It is a mere illusion. Step forward. Step forward, my love. You will see!" In front of her now, Erik made a strange motion in the air with his hand, as though he were grabbing and pulling something that was invisible.

Christine continued to walk in that direction, and, in the time it took her to blink, she was suddenly standing inside the familiar crumbling building. But she hadn't seen the entrance right in front of her! Gasping, she stepped backward. She was outside again, but the theater wasn't there. All she saw was an empty field. She stepped forward and was in the building once more. "H-how?"

"Old tricks of bending light. A few new tricks with quantum optics. Merely an illusion."

"But it's a whole b-building," she stuttered. "You made a whole building disappear?"

"Yes, it is one of the largest objects I have tried. Imperfect. If one looks closely in the daytime, there are flaws. At night, it is nearly ideal." Erik sounded very impressed with himself. "It is a temporary adjustment until I determine where our new home will be as husband and wife."

_My God. He was impenetrable. She had never had a chance. _

There were more doors, locks, and passwords than she remembered throughout their journey downward. If getting out the first time had been difficult, escaping ever again was truly impossible. The underground world would be her home for as long as Erik desired. When Christine was finally back down below, she stood there staring at her familiar surroundings. The sight was almost too much; it signified the utter futility of all her actions. She closed her eyes and breathed in and out, trying not to dissolve into panic. Erik watched her. "Do you require anything, my love? Now that you are home, we can attend to all your needs. Whatever you desire will be yours."

"I think I want to go to bed," she said in a dull tone. She couldn't converse rationally with him right now. Her mind was on the very edge.

"That is for the best. You look exhausted. We will continue tomorrow."

As relieved as possible under the circumstances, Christine finally escaped those intense yellow eyes. Something brushed against her arm as she entered her room. Her head snapped up, and she saw that the wedding dress hung on the door. The veil dangled nearby from a nail in the wall where a picture had once been. Christine backed away from the items. Falling to her knees, she clutched the sides of her head and softly cried out to no one in a weak voice, "Help me!" She rose from the carpet and paced back and forth across the room, through the bathroom and into the closet and then retraced that path all over again. She felt insanely pathetic-like a dimwitted bunny trapped in a cage.

Finally, she gave up and collapsed onto the bed. For another night, she barely slept, which was probably contributing to her rapidly deteriorating mental state. She wanted to stay in the room all the following day and maybe forever—to not face what had to be done and the conversation that must be had. But she couldn't delay any longer. Raoul's and Phillip's lives were on the line, and time was running out before that horrible red day in October. And was today an orange date? Or was that yesterday? Or tomorrow? Her brain was scrambled. What day was it?

Her clothes were dirty and wrinkled from running from place to place with Raoul. She didn't want to put on one of the more elegant outfits from the closet, but she had little choice. If she came out looking like a mess, Erik wouldn't take anything she said seriously. Christine didn't have the energy to shower. As long as she didn't look like she'd just stepped out of her own grave, maybe that was enough.

"Erik?" Her voice was soft as she approached him at the kitchen table. He seemed to be waiting for her there with his gloved hands folded together.

"Good morning, my love." He paused and studied her. "You did not sleep well, did you? I can tell. I can give you something, if it is a problem. You must have your rest." His voice was soft and calm. Yet there was an edge that told her to be extremely careful.

She decided to wait until he was more relaxed. "I want some water."

"Of course. You must be very hungry and thirsty." He retrieved it, and she shakily took the cold glass. Next he set out a thick loaf of French bread and a block of white cheese on the counter. With a large, silver knife, he began to slice them into perfectly even pieces on the cutting board. _Chop. Chop. Chop._ "Your books are there if you wish to resume your lessons," he continued. "If you wish to wait until after you rest, that is also very understandable. Where were you in your history lesson?"

"Um. I don't remem-the explorers," she said. How strange that she did remember. But history had become her favorite subject. "Cortés."

"Ah. The _conquistadors." _He sounded so delighted with that word that she wanted to scream at him. "Yes, you must return to them later."

"Later," she parroted. Christine soon sat in the living room holding a slice of bread with mild cheese on top, rigid even as he played a soothing melody on the piano. The food tasted like salty tears. Sometimes she would go into the kitchen or the bedroom, wandering like a ghost from one place to the next without aim. She was delaying, she supposed. Erik would constantly ask her if she needed anything. Outside of the edge in his voice, he acted as though nothing had happened, as though he didn't have Raoul and Phillip locked up somewhere. As though she had never tried to escape.

Finally, late that afternoon, she could no longer keep up the weird charade. Time was ticking. And the longer she held off, the longer Christine had to talk herself out of it. Another orange day was near unless it had already passed. Had he blown up more buildings before making her breakfast that morning? It took yet another hour to gather courage. Christine waited until he was calmly situated at the piano, seemingly serene and no longer on guard. And then she approached. She was shaking, and her voice betrayed her terror. "Erik."

He glanced at her. "Yes, my love. Did you want to sing now? I have missed your voice so dearly."

"I don't want to sing right now." She gulped. This would be the most terrifying conversation of her entire life. And Christine hoped she survived it. "I want to talk."

He continued to play. "Talk? Of what? It would be wise to wait until you have had time to rest. Then you will be in a better state of mind to discuss matters of importance. I have made you dinner. A chicken and rice soup that you will greatly enjoy."

"I want to talk now."

"Go on, if you are very troubled."

"Erik, I-I went down the other elevator," she whispered, fingers curling.

"I am aware of that. Yes, you are a very clever girl. Calling me as you did?" He chuckled. "But I have always known that as well. I love you all the more for it."

"I saw…_her._" He said nothing to this. "That was-very, very strange."

Erik finally shrugged but avoided her gaze. "I merely modeled my main information system after that which I adore. That is no crime."

Now she didn't know what to say. But Christine wasn't here to talk about that. If only a digital version of herself had been their biggest problem…. "You're right. That doesn't matter." Christine paused and then forced the next words out, starting from the lowest crime. "I heard recordings on that-that computer. I heard you and Cameron talking on the day that I sang for the Community. The gunshots. I know what happened!" Her voice cracked. "Anthony, Erik. _Anthony!_"

His voice was colder. "The boy was an intruder. He chose his fate. Although perhaps the younger Chagny is to blame for the entire affair."

"But he wasn't armed! They weren't trying to hurt anyone! Why didn't you and Cameron just turn him over to the police?" No response. "No one would have believed him about the butterflies. And-the butterflies! Erik, that's…very creepy. You can see everyone, can't you?" Still no response. "But Anthony didn't deserve to die. That's why I ran. I ran because I was terrified! And I asked for Raoul's help because he was my friend. So please don't blame him."

He still refused to look at her, and it made her all the more nervous. Erik played on and on, the melody becoming faster, louder, and more complex. "You do not comprehend the mechanics that go into creating this sort of infrastructure," he finally said as though discussing how a car operated. "How one loose screw can topple the entire system? One error can destroy years of careful preparation? You have no idea, my beauty. And you do not need to know the multifaceted details. The boy chose his fate. The day is regrettable, but ultimately his fault."

"Erik, that is so…_cold_," she whispered.

"Then all nations are _cold_," he nearly snapped. "Do you know of a government that does not execute or severely penalize spies, my dear? No, you do not know. You do not know enough to make these judgments."

She was frustrated and dangerously close to losing control. Christine decided to jump in for the kill—for the true act that Erik could never hope to justify. "Well, I do know now! I know everything! It's not supposed to be like this! The country isn't supposed to be this awful! The calendar! I know about the events!_"_

"The calendar? On the computer?" He laughed almost condescendingly. "What of it? Like any other individual, I am not immune to the occasional bout of forgetfulness."

_Was he toying with her?!_ "The dates matched up with the…the b-bombings! The dates said when the last bombings would happen!"

"Ridiculous."

But Christine heard him hit a wrong key as he played the song. Erik never erred. _Ever._ He had not expected her to know this. While she had the slightest upper hand, Christine quickly continued. "I know it's true! Bombs went off on the date I saw in orange! All over the television!"

"Coincidence. The country has constantly experienced violence."

"No. I know it's not. The way you talked to me. About being queen?" Her voice cracked again, but she continued hoarsely. Maybe she sounded weak, but at least the pain ridden words were finally coming out in one long, unstoppable stream. "This was your plan, wasn't it? You were making the country frightening and poor all this time just to help Cameron get power, weren't you? So that you could have power, too? Is that it? Or was it something else? Erik, what have you done?" She was nearly about to cry now. "Why have you done this?!"

Finally, Erik stopped playing. His hands dropped to his lap. He slowly stood and half-turned, looming over her now like a dark cloud. Christine stepped backwards but met his eyes. "I suggest you…take a nap and try to calm yourself," he softly stated. "You are not well. You are imagining things. You are hysterical."

"I'm not! I know it! Why have you done this?! Why won't you answer me?"

"Go to bed, Christine. You are not well. You are saying very irrational things. And my patience is waning."

She should have obeyed at that moment, heard the tremor in Erik's voice that signified he was losing control. But she wasn't exactly at her sanest either, and so Christine made the damning mistake of continuing the confrontation. "Erik, you're destroying the country! It's the most horrible thing in the world! Why?! All those poor people…."

"Go to bed."

"How could you do this?"

"Leave me."

"Erik, it's monstrous!"

And that did it.

"That little idiot has completely poisoned your mind against me!" Erik exploded. And his rage was far more terrifying than hers. His yellow eyes almost seemed to turn orange as he rounded on her. His arms were out and his hands were clenched into bony fists, his sharp knuckles sticking out like protruding nails. He seemed to grow another foot taller. "He has ruined everything with his lies!"

She hunched down but continued to speak. "Raoul doesn't have anything to do with it!" Her voice completely lost its strength. And Raoul's name sent Erik over the edge. A lamp smashed as it flew from the nearest table and onto the carpet. The bulb flashed out, and the room darkened. Terrified, Christine turned and ran toward her bedroom, hoping he would leave her alone and allow her to hide-maybe forever. But, to her horror, Erik was following. And he was ten times as fast as her, footsteps silent. She didn't even bother to close the door, throwing herself up against the farthest wall with a thud. "Erik," she whispered as tears rolled down her cheeks. "Please. Please. I just wanted—"

She just wanted what? Erik to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness for all his terrible crimes? Had she really thought that would happen? Maybe in her most beautiful dreams. But real life, it seemed, was determined to be a nightmare.

He stood in the doorway, shoulders heaving up and down. "I had hoped to give you a day of recovery," he said, his voice softer again. "I had hoped to be gentle even after you allowed that boy to lead you astray. But it is now time for you to finally accept your destiny, Christine. No more childish games. No more boy. No more delays. My patience has finally arrived at its end. He will perhaps live, but only if you follow my instructions. Now, Christine." A pause, and she wondered in horror what he would ask of her. "You will put that dress on, do you understand? You will put it on now."

"Erik—"

"Put on the dress." He removed it from the door and thrust it out toward her.

Her shoulder blades dug painfully into the wall. "Erik, I can't—"

"_Now, or I'll kill him! I will drag him from his cell and kill him!_ Do you understand? I have waited long enough for a wife, and I will have her! I will have her now!_" _Erik flung the gown on the bed. "So put on your dress so that we can be married. And then perhaps you will forget that detestable Chagny boy." He slammed the door behind him. The walls and pictures vibrated.

After staring at the closed door in shock for several seconds, Christine screamed and pounded her fists against the wall. "No! No! No!" But there was nothing she could do now. She'd tried. She paced, but there was no escape. Her eyes fell on the dress. _What choice did she have? Let Raoul die? Did she really think this wouldn't happen anyway? It was her fate. Erik was right. He had made it her fate. _

_I tried….I tried!_

She grabbed the dress off the bed, digging her fingers so deeply into it that she nearly poked holes in the delicate fabric. Going into the bathroom for a false sense of security, Christine began to peel off her clothes. Before the coolness of the air against her naked skin could produce any dreaded sense of vulnerability, she climbed into the dress. She refused to look at herself in the mirror until completely covered by the glossy white material. When she did glance at her reflection, she almost started crying. Her hair was wild and tangled, and her eyes and cheeks were red. Her face was pale and bordering on too thin. The loveliness of the dress added a macabre touch to the entire picture. To her horror, she couldn't zip it up all the way in the back. Christine threw her long hair over the opening and prayed to God it wasn't noticeable.

For some reason, she couldn't get herself to put on the veil. It sealed everything. Slowly, she slipped on white flat dress shoes with no stockings. And then she sat on the bed and stared at the ground, hoping he would change his mind.

"Have you put on your dress, Christine?" he softly asked twenty minutes later.

"Yes," was her hoarse response.

"Then come out, my dear. Come out."

She shakily stood and made her way to the door, still clutching the veil in her right hand. Opening it, she stared up. The look on his face nearly made her run away again.

"Yes," he whispered although it nearly sounded like a hiss, reaching a hand outwards. "Yes, that is perfect." He took several steps toward her. "More beautiful than I ever imagined. Yes, Christine. Look at you! You will be the loveliest wife in the world. I will cherish you forever and ever." She refused to look at him. He held out a hand to cup her chin; she turned her head away. "You may only do this now to save insignificant lives. But, eventually, you will understand where you belong. Your destiny. You will be a queen, Christine. No matter what you have seen-what you have heard or what poisonous thoughts that vile boy has put into your mind-this is how it is supposed to be. Our marriage will solidify your understanding. I am sure of this." Erik gently pried the veil from her closed hand. She shut her eyes as he gently fitted it atop her head and then smoothed it over her hair and shoulders. "There. Yes. Perfection." A tear ran down her cheek, but he said nothing of it. "Let us go, my love. All is arranged now."

Like a zombie, she followed him up the stairs and toward the exit. "Are we going to the Community?" she managed to ask as they reached the surface. The thought of Cameron glaring and leering at her in this pathetic state would truly be the cherry on top of the wedding cake.

"No. Not Cameron. He has been very irritating as of late. Someone else will marry us."

The eerie man with the black scarf over his face drove them to the center of the city. Erik stared at her the entire time, and she kept her eyes on her lap. The location was quiet and calm with few people around, and the late September sky was dark grey. They soon stopped in front of a plain two-story brick building that looked as though it had once been used for city government affairs. It was the only place that still had lights visible through the closed blinds, as though lit up especially for the blessed occasion. As the inevitable approached and they climbed out of the car, Christine made one last attempt to reason with him, standing back as Erik headed for the glass front doors.

"Erik, please. Please give me more time. Please. Please let's talk. It didn't come out right. What I said-I can say it differently. I just wanted to understand why. Please—"

He turned back to her. "We will be husband and wife today. All other concerns can be resolved later. Come, Christine.

"Erik, please—"

"Do you not want your wedding guest to live another day?" He gestured to the side.

Her heart stopped, and she turned around. Just down the block—"No!" she gasped. _Raoul!_ He was blindfolded and down on his knees, held there by three men in dark clothes. His shirt and pants were wrinkled and dirty, but he appeared uninjured. For now. He was turning his head frantically as the men kept him in place, probably trying to figure out was happening to him. Christine turned back to Erik in a panic. "No. Don't make him watch this. Please. Please. Please don't make him watch!"

"He should understand where your destiny lies. He must understand that you are _my_ wife now."

"No!" she begged. Raoul would go insane once the blindfold was removed. He would become suicidal in his attempts to rescue her. She was certain he wouldn't survive the day. "Don't do this! Please don't make him watch!"

"I told him that I would invite him to our wedding," Erik said coolly. "It would be rude not to do so now."

With a quiet sob, she grabbed Erik's shoulder. He sharply glanced down at her hand. "Please," she softly sobbed so that Raoul couldn't hear her voice. "Don't do that. I'll marry you. I'll be your wife. Just don't make him watch. It will…ruin my wedding day."

Maybe her touch earned her whatever little sympathy Erik had left. "You will be my wife?"

"Yes. Just don't make him watch this. I'm begging you. Please!"

Erik studied her and then made a dismissive gesture with his hand. The men took a very confused and frightened Raoul away, disappearing behind the closest wall. "He is uninvited because my bride wishes it."

With a shaky sigh, she followed Erik into the brick building. It held a dim, circular meeting room with a tall ceiling. The carpet was dark blue, and the windows were all concealed with white blinds. Desks and chairs had been pushed to the side, and a wooden podium was situated at the front. A few lights lit the room, buzzing softly. At first it seemed like they were the only ones there. At the front, she finally noticed two other figures standing in the shadows. One was an elderly, bald man in a brown suit and red tie; he was blindfolded. Behind him was another figure in black; his face was covered by a handkerchief, but his eyes were visible. She shuddered. _Were these creepy men from the Community, or was Erik creating his own shadowy army? _

She had little time to dwell on this.

They walked forward.

The blindfolded man swallowed, lips pressed together as though he were very nervous. The other man had his arms folded as though bored.

Erik stopped three quarters of the way toward the front, maintaining a distance.

"You are here?" asked the blindfolded man, a slight tremor in his raspy voice.

"Yes," Erik stated. "Perform the ceremony, and you will be well compensated."

The man nodded. Christine squeezed her eyes shut. The room smelled like old books and dust.

"We are gathered here today…."

_Help me. _

"…begin this commitment to each other…."

She opened her eyes, turned around, and made sure Raoul wasn't watching. _Good. That was good. _She hoped he would forget her. She hoped he would escape far away and never think of her again. That was the only way he would live.

"…now to be joined forever…."

Christine wished she could sprout wings just to see the look on Erik's face. She smiled to herself, continuing to fantasize about situations where all the power was suddenly in her hands. Yellow lightning flew through her fingertips. Objects moved without her touching them. And then Erik would listen to her. Only if she did something amazing and beyond belief would he ever listen to her.

"Do you take Christine…."

It was raining outside now. _Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter. _Thunder rumbled distantly.

"…in sickness and in health…."

It smelled like dirty rain- damp and dusty. Her nostril twitched. Her neck tickled with perspiration. The dress was suddenly making her very hot and itchy.

"…for as long as you both…."

She closed her eyes.

"I do," Erik said, the slightest tremor in his voice. She shuddered.

"And Christine. Do you take this man-"

_I want to fly. _

"…for better or for worse…."

_I want to go to bed. I'm so tired. _

"Christine?" the old man asked.

"Yes?" she whispered, looking up at him.

"It is your turn, my girl." He now had a touch of sympathy in his voice.

"I…."

Erik was staring down at her, daring her.

"I…I do." The words sapped her last bit of energy. She collapsed to her knees, dress folding beneath her legs and veil brushing against the dusty blue carpet. As more lines were spoken, Erik allowed her to remain there. At least until the rings.

"I believe you lost this, my dear." She stared up at the object through blurry eyes. "Didn't you? In the water."

"Yes," she whispered, slowly taking the cold object. "I lost it in the water." She felt as though she were underwater.

"Stand, my sweet wife. It is nearly over."

He held out a hand, but she made her way back up to her feet without it. Taking the ring, she shakily slipped it onto her finger where it hugged her flesh once more. Erik also had a ring now. A gold one like hers. It shimmered and taunted.

"I now pronounce you-"

"I will love you forever, my wife," whispered Erik as the ceremony ended. She stared forward.

The scary man handed the blindfolded man a handful of cash.

Christine didn't even remember the walk back to the car, the return to the underground home. All she recalled were cold raindrops falling against her face and shadows. Erik was very quiet, his eyes strange- victorious but not quite consoled. Sometimes it seemed as though he were going to speak to her, but he never did.

He approached her when they were home. Some part of her mind that still cared about her wellbeing warned her of a wedding night. And she wondered if she would even fight. But she didn't have to ponder it for very long. Erik kept that promise.

"Sleep well, my beautiful wife," was all he said, staring down at her with adoration. "You will feel better tomorrow. We will speak then about your grand future."

He raised a hand to touch her cheek, but she stepped back and away from him. The hand dropped. And she could see unmistakable hurt in his eyes as he silently turned his back toward her. But her own terror and heartache trumped his, and she would offer no comfort. Erik had gotten his way while she had nearly given up everything. Why should she console _him_?

Later, Christine would come to understand that all her power lay in these brief instances of vulnerability. At this moment, though, she didn't think of it. She was too angry and exhausted and broken to care.

She turned and went into the bedroom, shutting the door tightly behind her. For awhile, she lay there in her numb state, still wearing the dress. But her heart finally fought back and forced her to feel again. Christine cried into her pillow until no more sounds could escape her throat.

It was not the marriage that was so truly horrifying. It was not even that she was back here again, possibly trapped underground for the rest of her life.

It was that he wouldn't listen. Horrible things were happening all around them, and he truly didn't care. Erik was so indifferent to human suffering that she no longer believed he could be reached. That knowledge was the true source of her despair.

After several nights of not sleeping, she finally cried herself to sleep—the wife of the man who would now destroy an entire country. And maybe someday she would be able to sit there and smile through it all. Maybe someday she would stop caring.

But not yet. That night, she still cared. She still hurt in the deepest way.

She was not yet the _perfect wife. _


	26. Chapter 26

Thank you for all the lovely reviews. There were once again many varied and interesting responses.

So this chapter was challenging to write. Erik is so resistant to any sort of compromise. Christine begs and Quiet2885 begs, and Christine gets shushed while Quiet gets murderous glares :(

**Read and Review!**

While he never again attempted to pursue Christine or the younger Chagny boy, Cameron kept a figurative ear to the door in the hopes of hearing something regarding the couple. The most interesting news had been passed through several government officials. Apparently, the elder Chagny brother had vanished, leaving his mother very worried.

"I bet Chagny said screw it and is living it up in Europe or something," one man had remarked. "Just didn't want to lose face after all those inspiring speeches he made."

But Cameron wasn't so sure. When he received the phone call that gave him his answer, he was looking through a series of letters from foreign officials. The majority were from lower level ambassadors, but he did receive the occasional message from leaders of smaller nations. The letters were brief, polite and professional but with the slightest edge of alarm.

"They are merely trying to get a feel for your policies," Erik had said many months ago when the first few messages arrived.

Cameron had frowned. "I really don't want to work with any ungodly countries."

"You want to cut off trade with the entire world? That should do wonders for your new nation. But it is yours, so by all means do as you please."

"God is on my side," Cameron replied. "He will provide no matter what choices I make regarding these sinful countries." He paused. "Still, it's too early to burn bridges. You're right. I should be careful. Unusual allies can be useful." He had thought of Erik as he said this.

Erik had shrugged. "Be vague. Make no promises, and use the language of a politician. Tell them you have no power yet. Tell them that if you were to rise to a higher position, you would take a measured approach to all current issues—"

"Maybe you should write the responses. You're the one who has spent so much time abroad. You know how to deal with this."

"Must I do everything, Mr. Lourdes?" But Erik took the letters and left.

Cameron found himself missing that calm, controlled relationship with Erik. That damned girl had ruined everything, and Cameron was becoming more disgusted by it every day. Out of concern that Erik would completely lose his mind, he had surrounded his home with dozens of bodyguards. Cameron was also wondering if there might come a time when he would have to quietly find a way to eliminate Erik. After all, he couldn't have a complete madman running his new country, could he? Then again, who would ever be able to accomplish that feat? It would take an entire squad of trained assassins, and half of them probably wouldn't come out alive. What a mess. What a waste of talent, if that were to happen.

And it was all Christine's fault.

As he pondered over these things, Cameron's phone rang. "Yes?" he answered in a tired voice.

"Good evening, Mr. Lourdes."

He swallowed nervously and glanced from side to side. "Erik."

"All is well there, I assume?"

"Yes. Preparing for our big day." Cameron paused and noted the calmness in Erik's voice. "And you?"

"I am presently occupied but monitoring the situation. I had to push the events forward by several days after your extremely poor judgment created a severe disruption."

"Ah. Yes. I noticed there hadn't been a recent…." He cleared his throat. "But that won't affect-?"

"No. These incidents are only a bit of insurance before the final day. You know I prefer to take a very thorough approach with all matters. All will go as planned."

"Right." Another awkward pause. At least Erik couldn't throw him against the wall. "There are…rumors that the oldest Chagny boy is missing. Some say he has fled the country. I'm not sure I believe that."

"You believe whatever you like, Cameron."

"Is he dead?"

"I told you that all matters concerning the Chagnys were now mine."

"Well, I couldn't care less about what happens to Phillip. He'd be defeated in the election anyway. But the younger one must know far too much by now. Do you have him and the girl? Please, Erik. For my own peace of mind, tell me that they are not still out there causing havoc."

"You have nothing to fear, Cameron. All will go as it should."

"I hope you keep her under control this time. Her actions have been so outrageous and ungodly that she has inspired a new policy. Raoul Chagny is dead by now, right?"

"I will discuss the boy with you later, for it does concern you. Now-exactly what new policy has she inspired, Mr. Lourdes?"

Cameron smiled to himself and took the risk of saying, "I will discuss that with you later—for it does concern you."

Erik didn't take the bait. "Your ridiculous policies bore me, Cameron. I will see you after the next event for another meeting." The line went dead.

But Cameron noted that Erik was much more composed. There were snide warnings but no inane death threats-which made Cameron believe firmly that Erik had Christine again. Just as Cameron had surmised, Christine was very important for Erik's stability. Still, he was worried that the girl would again create some type of mayhem. If Erik was right of mind again, maybe Cameron would run the policy by him.

It was a very good policy.

* * *

Eventually, she peeled the wedding dress off her sticky skin and showered. Christine remained under the stream of warm water for nearly thirty minutes, until her skin was wrinkled and puckered. No dirt or grime was left from any of the events that had nearly destroyed her. Only her mind still carried the fresh wounds. At least she had kept enough of her sanity to still care about her hygiene.

Christine drank water from the sink as she had done when first kidnapped. The only thing she had for entertainment was a single mystery novel that she had brought in to read many weeks ago. She didn't feel like looking at it.

Although sometimes she would sleep or simply lie there crying, many hours were spent dashing off into daydreams. Some were of her youth. Some were fantasies with magic castles and fairy tale creatures. And some were hilariously practical like her driving a car or teaching a class full of smiling students. She liked the latter the best, even if those dreams were as impossible as going back in time or flying around on a white winged horse.

Reality now seemed hopeless. Erik didn't care what she said or thought. He dominated her physically without effort, and he overpowered her mentally with mind games and cryptic dialog. Erik was better than her at everything. Maybe Erik was better than the entire world at everything. How do you ever win against such a person, especially one who shows no mercy?

The first morning after their wedding- or maybe it was the afternoon- he attempted to talk to her from outside the door. "Christine, my wife. Do you require anything? I have made you a large celebratory breakfast."

She had smelled something sweet cooking all morning. Hunger was present but very distant, a vague gnawing sensation that could easily be ignored. And she didn't want to see him. She didn't even want to talk to him, but Erik might enter her room if she said nothing.

"No. I'm not hungry."

"I only wish to make you happy." She glared and said nothing to this. "Will you join me this morning?"

"No. I'm tired."

"I will play for you. Any song you wish. A wedding song, perhaps?"

"No. I just want to sleep."

"May I come in and see you? I simply want to view my wife. That is all I desire."

"I'd really like to be left alone, Erik." He didn't open the door. She supposed he could threaten her with something. Depending on the stakes, she might obey if a life were on the line. But he didn't this time. There was silence after that. Christine buried herself beneath the comforter and daydreamed again.

Her stomach rumbled throughout the day, but she was never hungry enough to leave the room. Every so often, Erik would knock. "Do you need anything, my wife? Are you well?"

"Fine," she would mumble. "Sleeping."

She wasn't sure exactly how long she stayed there, but it might have been over forty-eight hours. She seesawed back and forth between depression and dreams. At one point, Christine was lying on the bed and daydreaming about the beach. Her parents had taken her there when she was about six and she'd read about the shore in books, and so Christine was clearly able to visualize the scene.

Suddenly, she could almost feel the warmth of the sun and the rough grains of sand against her skin. The sensation made her flesh tingle and then seeped into her mind. The sound of the waves crashing buzzed gently in her ears. And everything suddenly seemed so perfectly wonderful. The beach was absolutely lovely, but she should also get up and go eat. Yes. Something told her to go find food. Still half on the beach, Christine arose from the bed and opened the door to the bedroom. She walked over the moist patches of sand and into the kitchen. She sat at the table and smiled, the golden sun shining in her eyes. A plate of eggs and fruit was suddenly placed in front of her. A fork clinked against the plate, and the sound finally awoke her.

The beach vanished. Christine gaped and shrunk back. _What was she doing out here? Why had she come out?_ _She had never wanted to come out again!_ Stunned and upset, she glanced up at Erik.

"You must eat," he said, gesturing to the food. His voice was strange. Concerned. "You must! I command you to eat now."

She groaned and placed her head in her hands. "No," she muttered. "You…did something to me, didn't you? Some kind of hypnosis? That's what happened with Ra—in the forest, isn't it?"

"You must eat."

"How?" she asked. "How do you do that?"

"I do not want to do it, but you leave me no choice!" he growled. "You are trying to starve yourself to death!" "

"I am not! I'm tired and not hungry."

"You must eat. You will get sick if you do not. You will die!"

Although her mind told her she wasn't hungry, her body was crying out for nourishment. Shaking her head, Christine slowly picked up the fork. "I'll eat if you tell me how you do that."

"Nothing but the combination of low frequency vibrations and my voice. You can resist if you choose to. But you must eat."

She stabbed the egg and began to nibble at it. It was flavorless, but her body seemed to crave the protein. Christine hadn't been trying to starve. Food just seemed very low priority in her depression. Erik remained in the kitchen, standing and watching her. Admiring her. She didn't look at him.

"Do you want more?" he asked when she was finished. "Let me get you more, my wife."

"No. I'm done." Keeping her eyes lowered, she stood and started to walk away.

"You are returning to your room?"

"I ate. What else do you want me to do?"

"To stay out here. With your husband. We must talk about your future as I said we would. You have your crafts. And your books and music. And your singing. I wish to hear you sing! Why must you hide away in that room when everything of value is out here?"

"I'm tired." Christine turned away again. Immediately, she felt the warm and soft buzzing invade her mind, telling her to stay out here. This time, though, she was aware of the sensation and quickly pressed both hands against her ears. She whirled toward him, glaring and panicked. "Do you hate me?" she angrily asked. "Do you hate me so much that you want to make me crazy?"

Erik leaned back. "How dare you ask that? I love you! You are my wife, and I love you! That is why I wish you to stay. That is why I try to keep you alive although you insist on wasting away. Why won't you stay!?"

"Hi, Erik. What can I do for you today? Is that what you want? You can just push a button, and everything goes your way? Hi, Erik. What can I do for you today?"

"_Stop it!_ Stop it now! I do not want that!" He raised his hands and his fingers curled near his ears, as though trying to block out a terrible sound. "That boy has destroyed everything! You will eventually forget him, you know. You will remember what your true husband can give you!"

"I told you," she whispered. "This has nothing to do with him."

"Doesn't it?" Erik asked with a sneer in his voice. "You do not think I am aware of all the affections that were exchanged between you both? The many nights you spent in hotel rooms together?" She could feel her face turn red. "I am sure that looking upon such physical flawlessness would make the hideous monster all the more less appealing. I am sure that every disgusting kiss you shared with that idiot was nothing short of perfection!" Erik spat. Then he softened his voice. "And so I did not ask it of you on our wedding day. I will never ask any of it of you; I am not that cruel. That is one thing Chagny received that I never will, and I can only hate him for it. But I love you still. And you will stay. And you will stay alive. You will be my wife. And someday you will understand that Erik can give you what the boy never can!"

She stared at him through tired eyes, her mind spinning. "Erik, nothing you just said made any sense. You think Raoul's _looks_ have anything to do with this? You really think-" She'd barely considered that, desiring Raoul more for his kindness and brave stability than anything else. He had been the one piece of sanity in all the madness. "Didn't you hear me at all? It's what you've done! You're destroying millions of lives. Why won't you listen to me?"

Still, Erik didn't listen. "He made you despise me!"

"You made me despise you!" She hadn't really meant to say that. Erik stepped backward and then turned around. His hands were shaking as he placed the over his face. "Erik." She shook her head, not wanting to prolong this torture any longer. "I'm tired. I'm going back to bed. You can leave food by my door; I'll get it there." Wiping a tear away, Christine returned to her room. There was no more buzzing in her head.

She again returned to her daydreams. She lost her perception of time and was unsure how much later Erik again knocked at her door. Startled from an actual dream about a thick, dark forest, she softly asked, "Yes?"

A pause. "Christine, you must know, the day after tomorrow I am leaving for a night."

"Okay." She had no fantasies about escaping.

Her door slowly opened. She flinched; it was the first time he'd intruded since their marriage. His eyes were very strange, and Christine was slightly afraid. "You must promise me that you will not…_hurt _yourself while I am gone," he said. "You must give me more time to make you understand what I will give you. You will understand when it is over. I swear to you."

After a confused pause, she said, "I won't hurt myself." Although thoughts of taking her own life had brushed against her mind as distant possibilities, she hadn't yet given them serious consideration. Seeing another part of the world, going to Canada, Christine had realized that there was still joy out there. There were still beaches and mountains and cities with lights and smiling faces. Lying there and fantasizing about them still seemed preferable to morbidly thinking up ways to kill herself. In that way, she supposed she had some vague sense of hope.

Erik didn't seem to believe her. "If you try, I will have to restrain you. I do not want to, but you must stay alive so that I can show you all you will have as my wife. You will be happy."

"I'm not going to hurt myself. I'll be here lying on this bed _alive_ when you get back, okay?"

He nodded and hesitated in the doorway. She stared up at the ceiling. "Will you not ever come out?" he whispered. "I will play for you. Any song, no matter how ridiculous. And when the country is secured, I will take you out to see it. You will not be down here forever once I can trust you again."

"You mean, once you and Cameron have destroyed it, I get to see it? Thanks." She closed her eyes.

"I told you that is ridiculous! This country has destroyed itself!"

"Erik, stop," she whispered. "Just stop. I know now. I know everything."

"You know nothing," he muttered. She said nothing. "Look at me, Christine. Look at me." She dully glanced at him. "I can give you so much. It is all I ever wanted. A wife. To love and dote upon."

"I think you want a lot more than that."

"It is all for you!" he growled. "All of it!"

"I never wanted any of this." She turned her back to him.

"I have made you dinner. You must eat. You _will _stay alive."

"Then please leave it outside my door." Erik left. Ten minutes later, she stepped outside and found a plate of roast beef, potatoes, and carrots. Christine took the food into her room and devoured it quickly. It was warm and delicious, and her poor body seemed to thank her for finally feeding it again. Like a prisoner, she left the empty plate outside her room.

She stayed there for hours. Every so often, Christine would check for food, and he'd always left something, even if it was just a cookie or a candy bar. Maybe after he left, she would sneak out and grab some books just to make the endless hours more bearable. Would this be the rest of her life? She could take weeks of it. But months? Months of nothing but food and that room and books and Erik asking her if she was still alive? The realization brought on a feeling of claustrophobia. She shakily breathed in and out to stay sane. Erik had mentioned eventually going aboveground….

The thought gave her a moment of hope. And then she was angry because Erik controlled that very same hope.

He knocked to tell her he was going out for an hour to "search for something." She grunted in reply. Christine must have fallen asleep because the next thing she remembered was his voice again. "My wife?"

She sighed. "Yes?"

The bedroom door squeaked open. She looked down and saw that Erik was carrying a fairly large blue plastic container. He popped opened the lid of the rectangular vessel and hesitated. "You must stay alive," he said. "Perhaps you would keep breathing for the sake of the boy, but, without the daily sight of him-maybe even that is not motivation enough. Because you still do not understand what I can give you. She would not stay alive, but you will."

Christine blinked. "She?"

"Nothing. I misspoke. I am tired, you see. So tired…." He tilted the container onto her bed and shook it twice. To her utter disbelief, the black kitten tumbled out onto her sheets, wriggling and meowing as though highly distressed from the trip. It had grown in the last few months. Her guard dropped for several seconds as she took the fuzzy creature into her hands. "Now you will stay alive," stated Erik. "You see, I will not care for the animal. It is not mine, and I have no feelings toward it. So, if you want the cat to live, then you must live. Do you understand? You have to stay alive, or it will starve to death."

What a cruel and morbid thing to say; she almost glared at him. And yet Christine took the kitten into her arms because _of course_ she wanted to keep it alive. Of course she'd do everything she could to make it happy and safe. Yet she was also angry that Erik had remembered her weakness. And yet still delighted and relieved to see that dear kitten unharmed. The complexity of it all was overwhelming. "How did you find it?" she softly asked, forcing herself to be calm.

"The same location. Near the gutters." He paused. "You will stay alive while I go out tomorrow?"

"Yes. I won't hurt myself, okay? I wouldn't have even without the kitten. I swear I won't hurt myself."

He nodded once. Then he placed a plastic bag of what she guessed were supplies by her door and left. Gaining some focus, she hopped up and unfolded a small metal cage in the corner of her room. She set up its box, food dish, and water bowl inside—carefully creating a small home for her fellow inmate. She left the door open, deciding she would only lock up the kitten if she had to leave. They both needed as much freedom as they could get. Erik has also left a small book about caring for cats.

"Well," she said. "I guess this is better than where you were. I hope you like it. We'll both be here for a very long time. What's your name going to be?" Christine asked as it ran through her hands and pressed up against her. Obviously, the poor baby was starved for affection. "I think I'll just call you Cocoa." It made her think of childhood winters snuggled up in fuzzy blankets with her mother.

She again frowned as she realized that Erik had exploited her weakness. Still, she wasn't going to reject a defenseless animal to be spiteful. The kitten deserved care. The kitten had done no wrong, and, unlike her _husband_, Christine didn't play games with the lives of innocents. It didn't take long for her to fall in love with Cocoa once more. At least she had a friend.

Erik pursued her again that evening. "Will you never come out?" he asked. "For an hour. Merely an hour of your company is all I request."

"I'm tired," she replied as usual.

"If you do not come out, I will-"

"What will you do?" she asked, preparing for a threat.

There was no response. She sighed unhappily.

The kitten was sleeping on her stomach. Maybe it was the fact that she suddenly had something to care about again, something real to focus on and stay sane for, but a realization dawned upon her. Erik was leaving soon for an entire night. But to do what? Was that the next event? Her heart pounded a little faster as she grew more certain of this. Yes, another event had to be approaching. Another bombing.

Could she do anything? The last confrontations had turned out so horribly that she barely wanted to try. And yet. _Christine, what do you have left to lose? _There was hope in hopelessness.

She set down Cocoa and slowly stood, carefully making her way to the door of the bedroom. He wasn't visible, and so she went to the sofa and sat down into the cushions, preparing for the worst. Immediately, Erik came out. She wondered if his hearing was that good or if he was somehow monitoring her every move. Nothing would really surprise her now. Christine stood again and greeted him. "Erik."

"You came out of your room." There was such relief in his voice that she knew she had to pounce.

But—Christine was not a skilled negotiator yet. And her first mistake was asking for far too much and in the wrong way.

Her tone was cold. "Erik, I don't want you to go wherever you're going. I want you to stop it. Stop all of the…disasters. And then I'll come out of my room. I'll come out whenever you want."

He stood over her and tilted his head. His shoulder twitched. "I am merely going to a dull political meeting. That is all. Simple appointments for boring matters."

"I don't think you are."

"You accuse your husband of lying?"

"Yes," she softly replied. "I do. You're lying." She paused. "If not that, then let Raoul and Phillip go."

"Ah. So this is all just another pathetic ruse to save that boy! I see. Erik sees."

"No. I want you to free them so that they have a chance at life. They deserve to live and be happy, and it has nothing to do with me. And think of their mother! She must be so worried about them. "

"I wouldn't know about concerned mothers," he coolly replied. "They can be released after the elections but not before. I refuse. It is necessary for reasons that have little to do with you."

"Then stop the explosions! Stop doing this! Stop making people miserable!"

"They are already miserable. They were already doomed long before I ever arrived, and you should not mourn for them. Humankind, especially in this vile country, does not deserve your tears! So do not ask for this!"

_Was that an admission?_

"Erik—"

"Leave me."

She knew better than to keep pushing this time. "Fine. Then I'm going to my room. And I'm not coming out after tomorrow because I'll know you've just killed a bunch of people. And I can't stand that! And you don't care how much you hurt me by trying to make me a part of this horror!" She turned toward her room, distraught despite her attempt to remain composed.

"It is structural damage!" he snapped in a low voice before she was gone.

She turned to look at him. "What?"

It seemed to take energy for him to explain. As though he had never wanted nor expected to have this conversation with her. "As before, you see. Structural damage. At night. Your precious people will likely not be in the buildings," he spat.

"Then why-" She sighed. "It's still going to cause panic, isn't it? Rioting and fighting and all sorts of violence. You make people turn on themselves. Or they join Cameron's community to stay safe."

"That is the nature of man," Erik replied without looking at her. "They easily destroy themselves. They need only a bit of encouragement."

"You've done far more than encour-Well, it's done now. But you can stop more explosions from happening. You can stop all of it. And then I'll come out."

"No. You play games," he murmured. "You play child's games in an adult world, and you will not win. You will not win. No. You will come out anyway because that room is dreadfully boring. You will come out if that boy's life is on the line."

"No," she softly protested. "I came back here to keep Phillip alive. I married you to keep Raoul alive. And I'm still here, and we're still married. If you kill them, you're already breaking those deals. And then I can't trust anything you say." Her words were firmer than her actions would be if Erik left right then to execute her boyfriend. But she was desperately trying to cling to any piece of reason or power that she had left.

"Go to your room, Christine. Go to your room now."

"Erik—"

"_Go!" _

She obeyed. Again, she had failed, and the weight of that was crushing. The next day arrived, and she stayed in her room, waiting for him to tell her he was leaving to go commit his horrible crimes. And, suddenly, it seemed like the most important thing in the world to stop it. It seemed desperate. Because if she could just stop this one, then there was hope of stopping it again and again. Just one break. Just one small victory. Yes, she was desperate.

As the time grew nearer, Christine came out once more. Erik warily stared at her. "My wife?" he softly asked. "What does my lovely wife need now?"

This time, she didn't have an accusatory tone. In an even and gentle voice, she said, "This one time. Stop this one tragedy. Don't go tonight. And I'll come out of my room. I'll even sing."

"I told you _no_. You do not understand any of it. You think you know, Christine, but you do not. You have no control or power over this situation. It is five years in the making."

"Why don't you help me understand then? Explain to me why you want to torture all these people?"

"Why will you not just be my sweet wife? I can give you so much, Christine. And you do not need to know any of it. I will be a good husband. I will give you everything if you cease with your silly demands."

She shook her head in frustration. "If you go do it, I won't come out. I mean it. I can't stand what you're doing. It makes me sick to my stomach. And that will be it." He said nothing. With a sigh of despair, she started to go back to her bedroom.

"Forever. Not just once? But forever."

"What?" She turned back around, heart jumping.

"You will sing and stay out here and keep me company as my wife? Whenever I wish it? If I do not go out this once? All for this single little event. All to keep a couple of worthless buildings on their foundations? That is your bargain?"

She took a deep breath. "Yes."

He hesitated. "Then it is sealed. But, my wife, this act will mean so little in the end. And yet-"He gave a strange laugh. "I desire your company so dearly that I will not stop you from making such a silly bargain. I miss you. Yes. Yes, it is sealed. And you have no one to blame but yourself, my dear."

"It is sealed. And I don't care if you think it's silly. I don't want you to do it." She paused. "But I want to see." She gestured to the television. "I want proof."

"What?"

"I don't pretend to understand how you do all of this. Where you have to be to do it. So just let me watch the news to prove you haven't done anything. And, if you've found a way to manipulate that, too, then I guess you'll have me beat." She paused and softly added, "I don't pretend that I'll ever be smarter than you."

"Watch what you please," he whispered, pushing a button. "Watch the imbeciles try to save themselves." His voice was bitter.

She weakly smiled as nothing happened that night. The reporters and anchormen were discussing the elections and the past violence. Nothing notable had happened since the last time with Raoul when she'd had a panic attack as she'd realized the truth. There were some riots and protests- all probably indirectly caused by Erik and Cameron over these last years. But nothing new.

"You said that you would sing," said Erik in an angry voice after she had sat there watching for several hours.

"I did. I will," she replied. He sat at the piano, and, despite her exhaustion, she sang her nearly broken heart out.

She also learned quickly that Erik didn't like losing any of his control. He punished her almost like a child having a temper tantrum. At what had to be after midnight, he awoke her and said he wanted her company. With blurry eyes, she'd stumbled out of bed and sat on the couch, barely able to stay awake as he played the piano. He was testing her, making sure she would really come out whenever he wanted her to do so. And while it was cruel, Christine should have known that Erik wouldn't go down without a long fight. He did it again the next night. And just as she settled down in her room for a nap, he demanded that she come out and sing. She did it all without protest, not wanting him to have any ammunition against her when the next bargain was made.

After that, the punishment stopped. She generally came out as she had before- to read and work on her knitting or to just sit. Cocoa would always follow and climb up next to her. Conversations were minimal for those next few days. Neither yet seemed to know what to say now that all barriers of secrecy were destroyed.

Christine refused to give up her access to the news. It made her feel connected to the outside world and allowed her to keep an unofficial eye on Erik's activities. As Erik saw her watching one day, he said, "You should not care so much. They are all pointless. They were a nation of shallow robotic consumers who had not one intelligent thought in their heads. That is what you are so worried over? They are pathetic. You should only care about us, my lovely wife. Only us."

She didn't answer. But, suddenly, something very significant occurred to her. The way Erik spoke-

At its core, where Erik was concerned—maybe this wasn't about power. At its core, this was more like revenge.

At his core-Erik wasn't simply an indifferent and power-hungry force. Erik was angry. Very angry. Nearly insane with rage.

And she wasn't quite sure what this would mean for her mission. She wasn't sure what it meant for anything. But it confused her all the more.

Christine still had to stop at least a couple more_ events_ before that looming red day in October. She still had to save the lives of Phillip and Raoul. She had so much more to go, and Erik already controlled her presence and her voice.

She wondered if she'd have anything left of herself by the time it was all over.


	27. Chapter 27

Thanks again, everyone. Still estimating about 35 total chapters. Let's see if poor Christine can make any more progress….

**Read and Review!**

"What are you making?" The question was soft and cautious.

Her answer was in the same tone; she kept her eyes on her work. "Gloves. They're a little more challenging, so I thought I'd give them a try."

"Ah." He stood there watching her knit, looking from her face to her hands and then back again. Erik was less agitated now that she'd left her prison of a room. Although his presence made her uncomfortable, Christine would admit to herself that she was grateful not to feel confined to the small space. "Dinner?" he asked after a pause.

"Yes," she replied, setting her project to the side and making sure Cocoa wasn't going to attack the yarn. All her meals were now taken at the kitchen table. It was probably more sanitary to not eat in the same plate that she slept. The food was always delicious; Erik seemed to be putting more effort into the meals since their…marriage.

The word still hadn't quite clicked in her mind. As a young girl, she'd always imagined that a quickly arranged marriage might be awkward, but this was something else altogether. The game was far from over. This was merely calm before the horrible storm.

"Will you sing this evening?" Erik asked as he sat at the table and watched her eat. "It is your choice." He hesitated. "I do not want our bargain to affect every single action, you see. I wish you to come out because you desire to do so. I wish you to sing because it brings you joy. Do you understand this?"

Christine glanced down at her honey-glazed chicken breast and mixed vegetables. It had been almost a week since their deal, and this was the first time Erik had mentioned its existence. "Yes," she murmured. "I understand."

"Everything need not be a game. You need not make it so. As I said, all I wish for is your companionship."

"I didn't want it to be a game, Erik." Christine softened her voice and hoped this discussion wouldn't become a battle. "But I hate what you're doing. And you keep me here and expect me to support you. How can it not be a game? It's the only way you listen to me."

"Forget," he whispered. "Forget all of it, and simply be my wife."

Christine stared at him in disbelief. "You want me to forget what's happening out there? And forget that you have my friend and his brother held hostage somewhere? I can't forget. But… you can stop it, Erik. You can let them go."

"And then why would you stay?" he coldly asked. "If I had nothing to give you? Or nothing to take from you? I would have _nothing._ And why should Erik have nothing when all of it belongs to him?" He stood in a black flash and started to leave the kitchen.

"Why is it yours?" she softly asked.

He paused in his steps. "Damages."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing. Forget this. Eat. If you wish, you may sing tonight. Otherwise, do as you want. I do not care." Erik left.

She could no longer come at this from a place of anger. Because while Christine was furious at Erik for many things, she was simply not as irate as he was. She doubted that she'd ever be angry enough to not care whether people lived or died. And so, when it came to anger, Erik won by a million points.

She would have to continue to try something else.

Christine warily wondered when the next event would arrive. It was still difficult to keep track of time, and being down there for so long was beginning to make her head cloudy. Sometimes she would still escape into daydreams simply to find a way to see the sunshine and blue sky. Still, she didn't want to ask Erik to go aboveground because it might damage her bargaining power. He was right; everything had become a game.

To her surprise, Erik displayed mercy earlier than she thought he would. "I think I should take you to the surface for several hours," he stated one evening as she was reading. "For your health." A pause. "I trust you will not attempt to escape?"

"I swear I won't." After she put on her tennis shoes, Erik took her aboveground. Cool fresh air and daylight were precious, and she squinted and smiled at the birds and squirrels. They renewed her energy and brought clarity to her mind. A soft sigh of relief escaped her lips to be up there again.

"You may ask if you wish to go above," he said as they departed. "I cannot promise every request will be granted, but I understand my wife requires sunlight. I do not want my flower to wither."

With a clear mind, she was able to reason through their situation. So long as it didn't involve her leaving him or stopping him from carrying out his horrible mission, he wanted her to be happy. This along with the earlier realization that Erik's actions came from anger made her think that there had to be more layers to uncover and opportunities to reason with him. "Thank you for taking me outside, Erik. And thank you for finding Cocoa."

His shoulders relaxed slightly, and he nodded. "Within the next year, I will find us a home aboveground. And perhaps this theater can be renovated. I would like nothing more than to take you to a live performance."

"I'd like that," she replied as they went back down. "But…don't you think Cameron will forbid most shows once he's in power?"

"Cameron will do as I say. I wish you would not even consider him."

"Well, he is the leader of—"

"He is a puppet. Nothing more."

She side-glanced Erik, never knowing how far to push with her questions. "Erik, did-did you approach Cameron about creating this new society? Was it your idea?" She chose her words carefully, as though she were discussing the weather and not the destruction of the country. Blame and accusations never got her anywhere.

"No." Erik opened the door to the descending staircase, and she climbed back into their home.

"So it was Cameron's idea, and then you helped him later?"

"Yes." He went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. His clipped responses were frustrating, but at least they were answers.

"What made you decide to help him?"

He stared down at her. "Would you prefer ham or steak for dinner, Christine?"

"Ham," she replied. "Did you think Cameron had good ideas?"

"Green beans or mixed?"

"Green beans. Did you, Erik? Did you think Cameron had good ideas about how to rule a country?" She kept a certain amount of innocence in her tone as she pried. "And that's why you helped him?"

An irritated sigh came from behind the mask. "Cameron has not one vaguely intelligent idea in his entire empty head. I have told you that. Do you want bread or a baked potato?"

"Bread. I always like your white bread. Do you-?"

"That is enough for now, my wife. Such topics do not make for pleasant dinnertime conversation, do they?"

She nodded, knowing that was her cue to stop. For now. "What should we talk about then?"

"Where are you in your biology lessons?"

"The nervous system," she replied. "It's fascinating."

His eyes lit up slightly. "Yes. The complexity of the mind is intriguing. The brain is the most powerful computer, and nothing that man has created has ever quite surpassed it. Your book is very basic; I can find you more that go into detail."

"And maybe a psychology book, too. I'd like to learn more about that."

"Certainly. Although know that certain theories are utter nonsense."

"I'd like to sing this evening," she said between mouthfuls.

"Most definitely. I eagerly await when all this is settled so that I can put you on a stage again."

"But…not for Cameron's events, right?"

"I hope to avoid him, although occasionally your presence may be required." His tone as of late toward Mr. Lourdes made her think that something had happened between them. Christine didn't pry, but-could it be used to her advantage? If only she could understand why Erik was doing this in the first place. If only….

While they had reached a fairly comfortable pause in her voice lesson, Christine chose to ask another question that night. It was something she needed to know if she were to continue this path-something that continuously worried her. "Erik? Are both the Chagny brothers still alive?" Her voice trembled. She could see his shoulders tense and his fingers curl. "I'm not asking you to free them, although I wish with all my heart that you would. But just…just promise me they're alive."

A long moment of silence during which she grew more nervous followed. "They are alive."

She nodded. "Thank you for letting me know." As long as they were still living and the collapse of the country had not occurred yet—she could continue this gentler path. She could operate from a place of hope instead of anger. That gained her more ground with Erik than fights.

He turned to look at her, watching her for a long while. Finally, he said, "In three nights, I will leave." _The second event. _Erik could likely see the thoughts forming in her mind. "More structural damage. You cannot stop it. I require this before the final event. This insurance."

Christine chose not to pick her battle at that exact moment. "I'd like to watch." She gestured to the television.

"No. You must not. You do not deserve to be upset," he murmured. "I wish for your happiness. Knit instead. Or read one of your books."

She gave him a gloomy, close-lipped smile. "If I'm going to be queen, shouldn't I get to see what's going on in my kingdom?"

Although she couldn't see his mouth, Christine was sure that Erik was gaping at her. "I wish for your happiness," he finally repeated. "That is all."

"Do you?" she asked. A silence passed, and then he turned away. Christine went to bed with a heavy heart, attempting to think of how to go forward with the next bargain.

There was one thing she could give, but the very thought was difficult to process. She didn't even think she could offer it to him without becoming mortified and upset. _It was the single similarity, she realized, between Erik and Raoul._ Neither had pressured her for her body; both had respected her. Compared to other women, she supposed she was lucky in that way. Still, Erik had to desire it.

Christine squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in her pillow. No, she couldn't offer it yet. Maybe at the last minute on that final day, she might try—if nothing else worked.

She started with something else, but it turned out to be a mistake.

"Erik, the next event," she softly began after dinner the next day. Their morning and afternoon had been calm. She had worked on her crocheting, and he had played the piano. She had asked questions about the brain and neurotransmitters, and he had happily answered. Christine felt secure enough to begin the next battle.

"I told you that you could not stop it."

"I know." She gave him a weird half-smile. "But…did you really think I wouldn't try?"

"I suppose not, my love. You are very tenacious."

"So…I'll be a better wife," she softly began, unable to look him in the eye. She still felt awkward and a little humiliated with this one. "I'll cook for you every day. Clean, if you'd like. For the second event."

He stared at her, and there was a flash of anger in his eyes that made her shrink back slightly. "What the hell makes you think I would ever desire that?"

She shrugged and grew even more uncomfortable. "You said you wanted a wife. We're married."

"Do I look like Cameron Lourdes?" he coldly asked. "Have not I made it very clear that I believe nothing of his inane theories?"

"You're helping him." She paused. "And I still don't understand why." Another pause. "Except that you must agree with him about some things."

"Your bargain is completely ludicrous. I would rather you read your books than do any of that nonsense. And, as I told you, this event cannot be stopped." He turned away from her and focused on the empty counter.

She had known deep down that this wouldn't work. Yet she had so little else to give and promise. Christine cautiously stood and approached him. "Erik, if you're not going to stop it, then please explain to me why you're doing this." Her voice was soft and desperate. "You're…_angry_ about something, aren't you? Something important? Someone hurt you or took something from you? Is that it?" Her hand lifted and almost fell onto his shoulder. He sharply turned and glanced at it. She shakily withdrew and stepped backward. "Tell me," she pled.

He again left her standing there by herself. "No. Go."

She went to bed feeling very defeated. Yet Christine was unknowingly saved by her almost- action.

Erik was the one who initiated the bargain. At first, she was frightened.

"The next event," he said during a voice lesson the following day. "For your…." He hesitated, staring down at the keys and his bony hands.

"For what?" she eagerly asked. "For what, Erik?"

"For your touch." His voice was barely audible. "To touch you."

It was what she had feared he might want. Her mouth became very dry, and her skin grew cold. Could she really say 'no' when lives were on the line? He was her husband; if she did believe in any of the _old_ rules, there would be no sin. Still, she trembled. Because she had never expected it to be like this. As she had told Raoul on their last sad night together, she'd wanted this to happen when there was hope and happiness to look forward to. And there was neither right now. Just fear and desperation.

"What exactly are you asking for?" she whispered.

"Merely for what I had before. But forever. I ache for it, you see. I do not know if I want to live without it." A pause. "This event is still only more insurance before the final day. It would be worth it, I believe."

"What is the red day?" she asked. "What happens then?"

"That is the end. You cannot stop that one. There is nothing you can give. That day is mine and has little to do with you. But I do offer you this bargain. I will not go in two days. If you will give me your hand again. Allow me to touch your lovely hair. Forever."

Slowly, she realized that it wasn't what she thought it was. For some reason, Christine wanted to cry. Not out of the horror as to what he was requesting but out of sadness. Pity. Maybe that's what it was. Despite all he had done to her and everyone else, she felt sorry for Erik because he wanted so little and yet wanted far too much. But she knew better than to show weakness at this important moment. Christine held her head high. "This bargain. You won't use this one against me. Like last time?"

"No. No games. Only what you have already given."

"Then I accept."

"It is sealed." He made no move to follow through with it.

"There's one more orange day. And then the red one? Is that right?"

"Yes. But this is the end of our negotiations, my love. I have your company. Your voice. Your touch. It is the most I will ever have from you that I would desire in a mere bargain. It ends now. You have spared your precious people one last tragedy. They should…really hold a day in your honor. Perhaps I will create one."

"Christine Day?" She made a weird noise between a snort, laugh, and sob. Erik just glanced at her. She stood there waiting for him to take advantage of his bargain, to reach for her. But he didn't, turning away and flipping through some papers on his piano shelf instead. Almost ignoring her. She awkwardly wished him goodnight and went to bed. Again, she watched the news over the next few days and was satisfied as nothing horrible happened. Still, he didn't try to touch her. He puzzled her.

They continued on with their strange marriage. Books, music, and odd conversations where no one ever said the things that needed to be said. He would take her aboveground every other day, and she would enjoy the sunshine. "If the world were safer, I would take you other places," he always explained. She refrained from telling him that it was only unsafe because of him. The peace that had developed between them was too important for passive aggressive comments that would do little good. Christine did take one risk, though.

So far, she had won with the _events_. She had proof of this. But the welfare of the Chagny brothers continued to bother her. She wanted verification that they were still alive, and the realization that they might not be was continuously causing alarm bells to ring in her mind. After a quiet breakfast, she finally asked, "Erik, will you let me see Phillip and Raoul? To make sure they're okay."

"No." His tone took on that iciness that would make anyone squirm. "I told you, no more bargains."

"It's not a bargain. I'm asking for your…compassion."

"_Compassion."_ He seemed to sneer at the word.

"Just show me them. I'm not asking for their release."

"Why do you care so much?" he snapped.

"Because I feel responsible! You wouldn't have done this to them if not for me."

"Your conscience will be the end of you, wife. I take full responsibility. You are to blame for nothing."

"I still feel responsible."

"Then that is your affair."

"Erik," she begged. "Please prove to me that they're okay. I won't ask again."

He sighed in irritation. "If I show you, will you cease thinking about them?"

"No," she admitted. "I won't do that until you free them. But I will feel better if I see them alive. It will make me much…happier."

"Get dressed." Feeling her heart jump, she eagerly obeyed and was ready within five minutes. They climbed out of his house, and she was surprised as they headed toward the infamous third elevator. "Seven. Six. Nine. Four. Three." Erik read the numbers to the doors, and they slid open. He then glanced at her. "Do not bother memorizing the code, my love. It changes every time and is fed to me through another device."

She sadly laughed. "I figured you'd make it more difficult."

He looked as though he were going to affectionately touch her hair. His hand drew back, though, and they walked inside. She was jolted as the elevator moved downward. Had Erik really put Raoul and Phillip down here?

When they reached the bottom room that contained the massive information system, Erik immediately spoke, "Deactivate C-2." The words must have made the other Christine not appear. The real Christine said nothing but was extremely relieved.

Without a word, Erik walked to the central keyboard and began to enter information into the computer. His hands typed so quickly that they were nearly a black blur over the keys. The surveillance system appeared, and she finally understood. "There," Erik said in a bored voice, stepping back. "There is the elder brother. He is being kept mildly sedated for his own wellbeing."

She leaned forward and looked. Phillip was lying on a bed and watching a television in what looked like a dark and dilapidated motel room, a dull gleam in his eyes. There was a plate on the nightstand by his bed that signified he was being fed. A purple bruise was visible on his forearm, but he seemed okay given the circumstances. "He'll be released, right?" she asked.

"After the elections," Erik assured her. "He has enough information and power to be a slight disturbance. And I will not risk it when we are so close."

She nodded and waited. Erik only stood there. Finally, Christine said, "And…his brother?" A nervous ache formed in her stomach.

Erik's shoulders tensed, but he leaned forward and typed in more information. Christine frowned as the picture appeared. Raoul's room was more like a prison cell than a motel. And he was clearly not sedated. He was pacing back and forth across the tiles with his forehead creased in concern and panic. Every so often, he would put an ear to the door. At least he wasn't severely injured, nor did he look like he was starving. Still, the frantic expression on Raoul's face made her cringe with regret. Why did she ever think it was a good idea to involve him?

"There. He is alive."

She swallowed. "Erik, will you let me see him? Just once?"

"No."

"Please."

"I said _no_!" he nearly shouted. "You will never see that boy again, do you understand? You are my wife now."

She took a deep breath. "I am. I'm your wife. And, if you let me see him, I'll tell him that. I'll tell him to leave me alone once he's released." Christine hesitated. "But I want to let him know that I'm okay. Please, Erik. Let me tell him that I'm okay but can't see him ever again."

"No. We will return now."

She bowed her head and said nothing.

Erik gave an angry sigh. "You wish to speak to him and tell him goodbye? Then you will do so from here. Where he cannot lay a repulsive hand on you." He typed something in with such force that she feared Erik would break the keyboard. Then he pushed a very thin black microphone toward her. "You have five minutes, do you understand? So say your final words."

She gaped and took the device into a shaking hand. Erik stepped away, crossed his arms, and turned around.

"R-Raoul?" she asked once she found her voice. He didn't respond. She realized she needed to push the red button on the device. "Raoul?"

This time, he jumped into the air and frantically looked around. "Christine?" He shook his head and buried his face in his hands. "Dammit! I am losing my goddamned mind!"

"No. No, you're not. It's me. It's…it's like an intercom."

His eyes lit up, and he looked toward the ceiling. "Christine? Thank God! You're alive! I wasn't sure…." He sounded very close to crying in relief. "Where are you? Are you hurt?"

"No." She weakly smiled even though he couldn't see her. "I'm okay. I'm just fine. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I-I'm so s-sorry, Chris. I'm sorry I brought you back here. I should have taken you far away so that mon—"

"Raoul!" she frantically interrupted.

He paused. Then Raoul whispered, "Is he listen-?"

"_Yes,"_ she harshly replied. She glanced at Erik nervously. His back was still turned. "Listen, Raoul. Eventually, you're going to be released, okay? I promise you will be. When that happens, I want you to go far away. To another country if you can. With your mom and brother. Promise me that."

"What's happening out there?"

"I don't know yet." She swallowed. "But I don't want you to worry about it right now."

"No. I have to help you—"

"No! Listen. You are going to live. As long as you don't try to come after me, you and your brother will live."

"No. I'll fight for you. Tell that-tell _him_ that I'll—"

"Raoul, don't give me another battle to fight. I already have far too many. Do you understand? I'll never forget what you tried to do for me." She choked back tears. "That's why I want you to stay alive. That's why I want you to forget me. Let me go." She closed her eyes. "Please."

"Chris—" He sounded so helpless. And he was. This was all on her shoulders now.

"Promise me, Raoul."

"But—"

"My _wife _has said her piece," interrupted Erik, obviously having heard enough. "If you are lucky enough to escape this situation, boy, you would be wise to listen."

Raoul gaped and then glared. "Goodbye," she whispered.

Erik turned the system off before Raoul could reply. She sighed unhappily. But it had to be done, and Christine hoped he would listen to her. The thought of him dead was unbearable. But the thought of Raoul alive and happy while separated from her—that she could live with.

Christine walked out of the room with a heavy heart, at least knowing that the brothers were relatively unharmed. Erik stood stiffly as they took the elevator up and exited. Slowly, she fulfilled the second bargain. She took his gloved hand. "Thank you." Erik stared down at her. She thought his eyes would be relieved or even delighted. Instead, he almost appeared distressed. Almost-_guilty. _And she wondered with horror if Raoul and Phillip were _not_ going be okay.

_God help her. _

The third event loomed. The red day loomed. And she had nothing left to offer.

"I am going out tomorrow night," he said later after finishing a complicated piece on the piano. And that was all. But she knew what it was.

"Please don't."

"You cannot stop it. Don't try. I am wary of these arguments. If you say another word of it, you will have to leave. My patience is thin these days."

She sat there, her hands shaking as they worked the yarn through the needles. In the quiet, her heart beat quickly. Cocoa yawned and stretched. Christine scratched her behind the ears. The cat purred and settled down, happy and unaware.

Slowly, Christine arose from the sofa. Just as she had months ago when she'd told Erik he wasn't a monster, Christine walked to the piano bench and carefully sat down beside him. Erik flinched and looked as though he wanted to get aware from her. He was scared that she was going to change his mind. She knew this.

"Where did you learn to play?" she asked.

"I taught myself from an early age," he stated after several seconds. "I can teach you to play," he said. "Or any other instrument. The violin, if you like. The harp; that suits you. I will teach you."

"I'm sure you could," she said. "Although I'd never become as good as you. You're very talented. And smart. Probably more so than anyone in the world." He said nothing, his eyes on the keys as though he didn't trust her. Maybe he shouldn't. "You could do anything you wanted," she continued. "Be anything."

"That is where you are very wrong."

"Why am I wrong?"

"It is as it is now. I will be nothing else but what I am. I have my wife, and I will give her the world."

"I don't want the world, Erik. Or the country. Or anything like that. I told you. I wanted honesty and kindness. I really meant that."

"No." He leaned away from her. "If I had nothing to give you nor take away from you, you would leave me. You would leave _again_ in an instant."

"I wouldn't." It was manipulative and yet not. Because it wasn't a blatant lie. If Erik would stop the destruction, she thought there would be enough relief in her heart that she'd try anything.

_Anything._

She felt him freeze as she wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders, her mouth so close to his ear. The softest of moans came from behind the mask. "Erik. Listen to me. Stop this, and I'll—_we'll _leave together. Without you, Cameron can't win. I know he can't. Let the Chagny brothers go; they can't do anything now. And you and I-we'll go somewhere, and I swear to God I won't leave you. I don't know what will happen. But I won't leave."

For a second, she thought she'd reached him. He stared at her, looked into her eyes, his masked face inches away from hers. Their breaths and heartbeats were the only sounds in the room. She started to place a hand against the side of his head.

"No. No! _No!_" He wrenched away from her. "Seductive wife! Lying, treacherous wife! Lies! Empty words to get your way! _Empty!_ You will run away again! You cannot trick Erik!"

"No—"

"You cannot ever see my face!" he roared at her.

She was so startled that she backed off the bench and landed on her knees. Christine gaped up at him from the floor as he towered over her. "Erik," she whispered. "I've already seen your face."

He seemed momentarily confused. "Yes," he murmured. "Yes, you have." He paused. "This is all mine, Christine. You cannot leave me! You cannot win." Sitting on the floor still, she put her face into her hands and started to weep. It was all becoming far too much for her. "Stop crying," he ordered in a softer voice. "I hate to see you cry. If you would forget, you would be happy. Please be happy, my wife. Please be happy, and I will give you everything."

"You've won," she said, wiping her eyes. "I don't have anything else to give you. But I'll never be happy with you if you do all this. You'll have my company and I'll sing. Fine. But I can't be happy." He said nothing. She shook her head in resignation. "But I am still begging you to tell me _why._ Because if you're doing all of this for no reason, then…then you are a…." She couldn't say the word, but Christine knew by the glint in his eyes and the way his shoulders drooped that he'd finished the sentence in his mind.

"You want to know why?" he rasped. "Then stand up. Stand up, my curious beauty."

She obeyed in an instant. He strode toward the room that held the file cabinets and the descending staircase. Christine could barely keep up with him. The temperature was colder in there, and she shivered. He turned on lights that she hadn't known existed. Then he unlocked the other door in the room, and she quickly followed him through the entryway. More fluorescent lights flashed on. She saw file cabinets and drawers and a smaller computer that was turned off. Finally, Erik stopped in the farthest left corner next to a black cabinet with four drawers stacked on top of each other. His bony fingers entered a code into a white keypad, and all drawers popped open slightly.

He angrily whirled to face her. "I am not going to stand here and give you my life story. I do not have the time, patience, or sanity for that enticing conversation. But, my wife, sate your curiosity. Stay up all night, if you like. I hope you find all your exquisite justifications. Otherwise, my dear, I suppose you will eventually have to content yourself with being married to a _monster!_" She stared after him as he retreated in several fast, furious steps.

Christine swallowed, still stunned. Slowly, she turned toward the black cabinet.

With a trembling hand, she opened the top drawer all the way. It squeaked slightly in the eerie silence. Inside was a small cardboard box with lots of small items and papers haphazardly thrown into it. She grabbed the first item on top as though it would save her life—as though it held all the answers.

A photograph in a purple frame. Light and cold in her hand.

With a picture of two blonde young women and another with curly black hair, all who were probably near her age or a little older. All three were very pretty and had silly smiles. Their cheeks were painted with blush, and their eyes were heavily done up with mascara and blue eye shadow. They were clinking champagne glasses together. The picture was dated 12/31/1999. She looked at the label on the back. It said_: Ashley, Heather, and Lena! Happy 2000!_

What a strange thing to begin with. A strange thing that didn't help at all.

Happy 2000, indeed.

It was going to be a very, very long night.


	28. Chapter 28

**Technical Note:** When I wrote the first chapter of this story, I hadn't been able to find much research on whether a face transplant might be done on a child. My guess was probably not, but that it wasn't completely out of the realm of possibility. But- I just found a recent article from June of this year about a children's hospital in Boston that is starting the world's first hand transplant program for children. It says that they hope the program eventually leads to face transplants for kids. So there we go.

Thank you all for your encouragement. This chapter is high on information, so, if you forgot any of Erik's past, you'll want to read closely. The chapters following this one will start us toward the climax….

**Read and Review!**

Lena was the important one in the first picture. Lena was the star of the entire first act.

Part of the top drawer was devoted to the girl. Pictures of her hiking in the mountains, tanning on the beach, playing tennis, swimming, out with friends, at a concert, graduating, dressed up in fancy gowns. There were many photos of her with an older, similar-looking woman who had to be her mother. There was also a photograph of her at dinner sitting beside a leaner, well-dressed man with salt and pepper hair. That had to be her father; their dark eyes and small noses were similar. Christine got the impression that her parents had been separated.

Finally, there was a wedding picture, and Lena was very beautiful in her strapless white gown with her hair pinned up and decorated with silver barrettes. Oddly, the man at her side in the picture, her husband, had been cut out. He had been very tall, standing over Lena by at least a foot.

Lena had to be Erik's mother. Why else would she be so prevalent? There was no physical resemblance except maybe in the way she held herself- the way she threw her shoulders back, a certain confidence in her posture. The last picture in the stack was a headshot dated 9/26/2004. Christine noted that Lena looked much less happy in this one. She smiled slightly, but her eyes were tired. Her face even seemed thinner. What had happened?

Christine's answers came next in a stack of birthday cards. Lena's mother had sent her one ever since her first year of college. Many had floral designs with glitter that stuck to Christine's fingers or pictures of mountainous landscapes. The first cards contained simple messages.

2/22/1993: _Happy Birthday! Caesar misses you. Every time I go riding, I can tell he's looking for you. And Angel still waits for you by the door and whines every afternoon. I guess your pets don't understand the importance of an education. Love, Your Favorite Mother._

2/22/1994: _Happy Birthday! Hope you're having a great time at school!_ _Don't get into too much trouble up there! Love, Your Favorite Mother._

2/22/1995: _Happy Birthday! Can't wait to hear about your new guy. Sounds like a catch! Love, Your Favorite Mother. _

Christine enjoyed reading through them. There was such warmth in the messages that she occasionally had to remind herself that she was reading the words of _Erik's _grandmother.

Then, the clouds arrived. The notes became longer and less lighthearted.

_2/22/2000_

_Happy Birthday, Lena!_

_Tell Zachary to take you somewhere nice. I still don't know if I forgive him for leaving you alone last New Year's, but I know his job keeps him busy. _

_Sweetheart, I know you're stressed, but it will all work out. You're still so young, and these fertility treatments are getting better and better. As I said on the phone, please stay away from any of that so-called experimental stuff. You don't need to be the guinea pig when I'm sure there are a bazillion other things you could try first. And there's always adoption. Thousands of kids out there could use a good home. Don't worry. It'll be fine one way or another. _

_Anyway, call me if you start feeling blue again. Always here to talk._

_Love, _

_Your Favorite Mother_

Christine gently closed the card, feeling nervous as she opened the next one. She only had two more to go….

_2/22/2001_

_Happy Birthday, Lena! _

_How are you feeling? You sounded tired on the phone, but that's pregnancy for you. Tell Zach to make sure you're eating and getting enough rest. I can't wait to come up and see you both. I know you're excited! Can't believe I'm going to be a grandmother soon! _

_Love,_

_Your Favorite Mother_

And the last.

_2/22/2002_

_Happy Birthday, my sweet daughter. _

_I'm coming back up as soon as I can. I just have to go to a doctor's appointment this Wednesday. Can't get these stupid headaches to go away. _

_Lena, I know you think that the world is ending. I'm so sorry that this has happened, but you have to be strong for all of you. That poor baby has a long road of rough surgeries ahead of him, but we will get through this. Doctors can work miracles these days. If you start feeling too bad, please have Zach get you some help until I can get there. _

_Love you all. _

_Your Favorite Mother _

Christine's hands were shaking. Why were there no more birthday cards?

A newspaper clipping gave her answer. A short obituary.

_Trudy Jean Hollander passed away on June 30__th__, 2002 at her home in Tampa Bay, Florida. She is survived by one daughter, Lena Rachelle LeBlanc, son-in-law, Zachary LeBlanc, grandson, sister, and….Trudy was born in 1942 in Memphis, TN…._

So Lena's mother had died soon after Erik was born. And with her died Christine's most important window into the past.

There wasn't a lot of material over the next ten years, just occasional medical records or scribbled doctors' notes that she could barely read. Erik had been born with a very severe craniofacial disfigurement. Almost…almost as though he'd been born with no face at all. A medical professional had noted it was a miracle that Erik possessed excellent vision and a functioning mouth. The rest-was very, very bad.

And then the next box had more newspaper clippings.

From 2012: "Face Transplant to be Performed On Youngest Known Patient in U.S." It didn't mention Erik's name. None of the articles did. There were various opinions about how young was too young and the major health effects of the operation. The biggest concerns were that the body might reject the transplant and that the child would be required to take immune-suppressive drugs that might damage his long term health. Still, the hospital ethics committee had approved the procedure after "very long discussions and intense conversations with the child's parents."

And then. In 2013.

"Lawsuits Expected in Face Transplant Nightmare."

"Craig Henderson Loses Medical License, Faces Jail Time in Transplant Mishap."

"Hack Job: Did Dr. Henderson Lose His Mind During Surgical Horror?"

Stomach turning, Christine quickly read through the articles. Something had gone very, very wrong during the non-routine surgery. _"It was horrible," said a source who wanted to remain anonymous. "I didn't know what he was doing. I said, 'Stop Dr. Henderson. What are you doing? Stop! You're going to kill him if you don't stop!'" _

The details were sparse as the family clearly wanted privacy, but the patient had left the hospital in worse condition than when he'd arrived. That much was clear. Christine pushed the box aside and sat in the silence for several moments, trying to catch a breath.

It was incredibly horrifying and made her chest hurt. Still, it didn't explain revenge against the entire country. There had to be more. She shuddered and bravely moved on to the next drawer.

Lena's obituary was on top. She had killed herself, Christine remembered. Now that she had seen a picture of the woman and explored her life, the knowledge was a little more painful.

But not as painful as what Christine saw next. One wrinkled and torn page of an incomplete e-mail exchange:

…_.believe what you're saying. You really think she tried to take him with her that day? I knew she was depressed, but God that's awful. Zach, you have to get him to tell you what happened. It can't be good for a kid to hold in something like that. _

_Candace_

_09/25/2013 7:13AM_

_Hello Sis,_

_Believe me, I took him to several of the best shrinks in the state. The kid won't say a word to them except "Leave me alone." But yeah, when I got home that day, I found Erik sitting by himself in a corner. First time I saw the kid cry since he was an infant. My best guess is that she tried to make him stay in the garage with her. I can't believe how far gone she was. I still wonder whether there was something I should have done for her. _

_I think he'll be ok. I'm going to get him enrolled in school soon. That's going to be a nightmare, but I sure as hell can't stay home. I'll go as crazy as she did. The kid needs to be socialized anyway. Lena kept him way too isolated, and it wasn't good for anyone's health. One shrink even thought Erik showed signs of an attachment disorder. What a goddamned mess. _

_Don't mean to sound cold. Just stressed and horrified by all this. Hoping it gets better soon. Hope all is well in Tokyo and with your travels. Don't worry about things back here. It's all under control. Hope you can visit for X-mas. Miss you. _

_Zach _

_P.S. Damned network went down. Printing this out and faxing it. _

Christine read through it several times to make sure she understood. Not only had Lena killed herself. But she had tried to-

The exchange fell out of Christine's hand and onto the floor as the ache in her heart swelled. And she could say that she now understood why Erik wasn't…completely together. Her own father had brought her into a cult, and Christine wasn't sure she'd completely forgiven him for those years of grief. She still didn't have a complete sense of self after being under Cameron's control. But having your own mother try to kill you—that was an entirely different horror.

_But why the entire country, Erik?_ There still had to be more.

Unfortunately, the next drawers and boxes didn't help very much.

There were stacks of school papers. She read through some of Erik's writing, and the information was already far over her head. But the brilliance was obvious. Someone had scribbled friendly notes in the corners in black ink. _"Excellent analysis of the chapter, Erik! Can't wait to see what you think of __Schrödinger.__"_ These were some of the happiest exchanges that Christine found in the entire file. The handwriting remained the same across the next five or so years. Erik must have been privately tutored.

The last file was disturbing. A murder had occurred at the end of 2017. There were articles about the incident that stretched all the way into 2020, most of them printed off a computer.

"Murder of Lieutenant Governor's Son Rocks State. Female witness possibly on hallucinogenic drugs at time of crime, further complicating investigation."

"Possible Masked Suspect Identified by Second Witness."

"Questions Remain in Murder…."

"Deceased Physics Professor and CIA Involved in Bizarre Cover-up? Government Denies Responsibility."

"Possible Suspect Located in Belgium."

"Person of Interest in Spain?"

The last items in the drawer were mere souvenirs. Some foreign money. A couple folded flags. Blank postcards. Pictures of old buildings and structures. And a red hair ribbon. Her hair ribbon, she realized. From the time she'd sung right before the Spirit first spoke to her.

Christine sat there feeling sad, confused, and very, very lost. Now what?

She had a better understanding as to why Erik was so isolated from the world—why he preferred to be a Spirit…why he had reacted so horribly to her seeing his face…and why he had been terrified that Christine would kill herself. And why he didn't want to be left alone. _But, Erik, why the entire country? I still don't understand._

Christine rubbed her aching head and picked up the first picture. Why was this the only photo in a frame? Maybe a friend had put it in there and then given it to Lena? Or had Lena put it in there because it was her last happy memory?

Suddenly, Christine noticed that there was something sticking out of the back of it, concealed behind the photograph. A tiny corner of a white piece of paper. Did Erik put that there? If not, did he know of its existence? Gently so as not to break the frame, Christine pulled it out.

_09/02/2013_

_Dear Mom,_

_I wish you were here. _

_I can barely get out of bed in the morning anymore. My husband hates me. And I have a son I can't help or understand. He looks at me, Mom. Erik looks at me like he wants me to help, and I don't know how. Sometimes I hate him for always staring at me with those scary pleading yellow eyes. _

_But most of the time I hate myself. What kind of mother can't hold her own son when he's born? If I had looked like that, would you have loved me? I know you would have. Yet I couldn't even look at him for the first six months. It's funny to think that there was once a time when I wouldn't leave the house without lipstick and mascara. I think my whole life has been shallow, including my silly excuse for a marriage. Maybe this entire thing is punishment for all that. Maybe it's a cosmic joke. _

_I am so lost. It's like there's a constant weight pressing against my chest, suffocating me to death. I can't see the light at the end of this tunnel. I can't save my son. I can't save myself. _

_I think that I'll see you soon. _

_Lena  
_

Christine sighed sadly and carefully put everything back into the drawers. Her body seemed heavier with all the knowledge. For a moment, she sympathized with Lena's feelings of being overwhelmed and helpless.

_But, Lena, I think you might have had an easier path if you could have held on..._

She finally got up and left that strange room. Lena had given up; Christine knew she couldn't now.

When she entered the living area, she didn't see Erik. _It wasn't time for the third event, right_? Right. That was tomorrow night.

Christine went into her room, made sure that Cocoa had food, and then headed for bed. She dreamt in shadows and heard voices she didn't recognize. Lena's face finally became clearer, and Christine felt horrible frustration as they climbed a grassy hill together. Lena smiled, and Christine grew angrier with every step. The feeling remained with her as she awoke from the troubled sleep. She frowned. It wouldn't do any good to be mad at some poor depressed, deceased woman. Lena had been mentally ill and all alone, and maybe Christine couldn't understand what she was going through.

All she could do now was deal with the present. All she could do was get up and go into the kitchen. A glass of milk, bowl of fruit, yogurt, and toast awaited her. She sat. Although not hungry, she took a few bites of cantaloupe. "Do you need anything else?" Erik asked when he entered, his voice without emotion.

"No," she murmured. "Thank you. I'm fine."

He nodded and left the kitchen. With a growl of frustration at her own passivity, Christine quickly got up and followed him into the living room. There was no time to delay or sulk or be afraid.

"Erik, I…." She swallowed as he paused in his steps, back still toward her. This was going to be so very difficult. Her first question probably wasn't the best one. "Is my last name LeBlanc?"

He visibly cringed. "No. I abandoned that name long ago. _No._ That is most certainly not anyone's name."

"Then what is it?"

"I have taken twenty or so last names in my time. From a variety of cultures. I will make you a list. Take your pick, my love."

"Erik, nothing I say will be quite right, but-"

"You need not say anything," he interrupted in a soft voice. "I do not need your pity for events that occurred decades ago."

"It's sympathy," she protested.

"I do not want that either. Useless. That is all useless now, and I especially do not want it from you."

"Well, you still have it. For your horrible surgery. And your mother. I can't even imagine….I am so sorry."

"Now that you know, you will quit inquiring. That is the only reason I allowed you to see. Your relentless questioning."

"But Erik. I don't…_know._ I understand why-why you don't like people very much. I understand why you'd be angry with that doctor and your family. I understand some things. But I'm sorry; I don't understand why you hate the country."

"If you do not know, then you never will."

"We've come this far. Maybe I'm too stupid to see it. Maybe you'll just have to tell me."

"You are anything but stupid."

"Obviously I am. Because I still don't understand your mission. But I want to."

He said nothing to her. Deciding to leave it alone for at least a few more hours, she sat on the couch and picked up the nearest book. She stared at the pages but didn't digest the words. A tense silence hung in the air for nearly five minutes. Christine could feel him watching her from behind. She could almost feel his anger building and building like a massive storm. Her shoulders tensed. But she still wasn't prepared when his voice boomed into the small room_: "How can you not see the systemic failure?!" _

She jumped and turned around to face him. "The wh-what?"

"The total and complete failure of this society," he rasped. "How can you not see it?"

Slowly, she closed the book and set it to the side. Christine turned around to face him, looking him in the eyes and giving her husband her full attention. "I don't see it, Erik. I'm sorry. Please explain it to me."

"Let us start with the health system," he began, walking to stand in front of her with his hands behind his back. "It is right in front of you. My mother could not naturally...she chose experimental treatments to have her _precious blessing._ Whatever vile company it was, they promised that, in addition to conceiving, she would have the perfect child. It was preposterous in that decade. But not impossible these days. Abby is one, you know?"

"Abby is what?"

"A perfect child." He waved his hand to the side. "Like I said, preposterous lies told to my weak-minded mother at the time. She did conceive, but—well, you tell me, my love? Was I born without flaws?"

"Oh, Erik," she whispered. Still, she forced herself to stay dry-eyed through this. For both their sakes.

"But that is only the beginning, my wife. My poor mother was trapped with me for ten years or so. The first five years of my life were spent in hospitals. I remember very little. Just whiteness and the smell of chemicals. And general pointlessness. The latter five years, I was confined to our home. She refused to take me into public, and I do not really blame her. Both of us were ruined creatures by that point, and my idiot father was of no help. He worked whenever he could, avoiding his tragedy of a wife and monster of a son." Erik glanced at the ground. She felt the urge to stand and approach him, to offer some type of comfort. The rage in his eyes as he looked up again stopped her.

"Now let us go to the next piece of this," he continued in a soft and scary voice. "Even better than the prior piece. I was the first child in line for a groundbreaking procedure of those decades. Along with more intensive surgeries, I was literally going to receive a new face. Oh, my poor mother was absolutely ecstatic! I had never seen her quite so happy in all her life. She would no longer have a freak for a child, after all. " Erik chuckled. "I am not of the belief that the procedure would have worked well for me in the first place, but that does not matter. What matters is-" A dangerous pause. "Do you know what the good surgeon said, Christine? As I slipped into sleep?"

"What?" she whispered, fingers curling into the sofa.

"He got right beside me—just like this…." Erik leaned down next to her. Christine shuddered violently as he spoke into her ear. "'Hello, Erik. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm very sorry. But I'm having a bad day today. I'm sorry, but I'm having a bad day. And you will, too.' Then he softly giggled like a drunken madman. And I awoke even more hideous—worse than what you saw that delightful night in the kitchen."

She felt the blood drain from her face. "My God. Erik, did you ever tell anyone that he meant to...do that?"

"What good would that have done?" he coldly replied. "Dr. Henderson lost his license and went to jail for a year. He was under the effects of alcohol and out of his mind—just another broken piece of a generally failing system. No surgeon wanted to touch me after that. It would not have mattered anyway. What matters is that my face was further demolished. What matters is that it was yet another massive failure!"

"Why wouldn't it have mattered?"

"To put it simply, my disgusting body has had enough. It rejects anything foreign." It sounded like Erik was gritting his teeth together as he said, "I will never let another doctor touch me anyhow. I am done with them."

"I don't blame you," she softly replied. "I wouldn't either."

"So let us finish the last component of this section. My mother. Falling into hell with no help. Drugged out of her mind occasionally. A few useless sessions with shrinks. But ultimately left to kill herself inside a running vehicle. But—my dear mother did try to correct her mistake. A shame it was only a suicide instead of a murder-suicide, eh? It would have saved the country lots of trouble, no?"

"Erik, please don't."

"You know that is true, my love, do you not? All the more better for everyone, including your lovely self, if I had ceased to exist that day."

"Erik-"

He began to pace. "But I do exist, Christine. I am here, and this country has only itself to blame. Now that we have established rampant failure with the health system. Let us move on. A quick glance at the educational system." A pause. "So that he could continue to ignore me, my father enrolled me in public school where I was tormented for obvious reasons. And then I was promptly removed when I finally defended myself. While the idiots who attacked me remained there—and then went on to university where I am sure they failed out after the first semester. Failure of the education system. Do you see that, Christine?"

"Yes," she softly replied. "That was wrong."

"Good," he replied almost with relief. "Very good, my intelligent wife. You are following along very nicely. I remained hidden away for a very long time, under the tutelage of the only man in the country worth anything." Erik paused. "In fact, his main flaw was the same as yours, you know?" He stopped pacing and stared at her.

She blinked and prepared herself for some sort of insult. "And what is that, Erik?"

"Too much compassion. He saved me, Christine. You know? He saved me, and he should not have."

"How did he save you?"

"Patience, my love. It soon became clear to me that I could not remain with my vile father for much longer. He became involved with a repulsive, shrieking woman who wished to put me in an institution simply because I did not think she was worthy enough to converse with. So I began to leave whenever possible. I even searched for work. _Legal _work, my dear. But, while my intelligence and skills were well beyond anyone else's, no one wanted to hire a freak anyway. It's not good for business, you know? Economic failure. And that failure followed me wherever I went—until I stepped outside those charming legal boundaries that society likes to install so that the _right _people are always hired." A pause. "But again-I get ahead of myself. Let us step backwards."

Erik then told her the story of his first murder, but Christine had the feeling he left some details out regarding a young girl he had met. Still, she didn't pry. He gave her enough information to understand why he was angry. "I killed someone in self-defense. Yet he was the son of a powerful man, and I had no chance under this festering system. I looked like a monster; it would have fit their narrative perfectly. Had it not been for my tutor, Dr. Nabavi, I would have been imprisoned for life or sentenced to death. All the better for the country but not for Erik, right? Failure of the justice system. Failure of all of it, Christine!"

"I'm so sorry," she began. "But Erik, I—"

"But you want to know of my return, right? Of course you do. I left this country. I would never forgive, but I did attempt to forget. But, you see, I could not escape my beginnings. I was a strange foreigner with the face and physique of a demon. And my past would creep up on me whenever I attempted to remain legitimate. So I left the world as you know it. And I found places where my talents were celebrated. The cracks and crevices of societies are where I quickly learned to thrive."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, do not play innocent any longer, Christine. You are not the wide-eyed doe you were months ago. I began small, really. Black market transactions. Messy odd jobs no one else desired. Through no fault of mine, the world economy was abysmal in the 20's. Nations were collapsing because the populations were unemployed, hungry, crime ridden-and the useless governments did not know how to fix it. There were uprisings of all sorts. I worked for whomever could afford my services, pulling the strings where I was needed."

She paled. "You've…done this before?"

"I assisted," he snapped. "But not like this, no. Revolutions of all kinds were already far underway in the other nations where I worked. I merely offered a helping hand. If it soothes your poor conscience, I even helped defeat a group of fascists simply because the opposition paid me more. I did not care; it was highly profitable. But, mostly, I learned a great deal as to what makes a society tick. Which was very useful when I arrived here."

"You just decided to come back?" she softly asked. "To destroy it?"

"Not quite. I am not that impractical, my love. With the rest of the world, this country began to recover in the early 30's. I assume Cameron panicked; he knew his Community would not do well if people were thriving outside of it. So he sought me out. He'd heard through underground channels of my work. After I received a large sum of money, I agreed to meet with him."

"I see…."

"Like most intelligent people, I originally thought Cameron was a raving lunatic with no fighting chance. It seemed a waste of energy to even try. But…he _had_ done well enough on his own. The Community already boasted tens of thousands members. He was charismatic, and people were attending his speeches in very high numbers. For a zealot, he was practical."

"So you thought he had a chance?" she mumbled.

"A small chance. And you must remember that I despised this country, Christine. Cameron Lourdes was paying me millions of dollars to uproot a country that I utterly despised. Was there ever a better bargain?" She didn't answer. "The Spirit and all its magical wonders fit perfectly. And the type of people the Community initially attracted were easily manipulated. They were desperate. Finally, it was I who controlled their lives. Finally, they would know what it was like to have no hope." He was silent for nearly a minute.

"So where did I come in, Erik?" she sadly asked.

"Where did you come in?" he softly asked. "You. Yes, you." He paused. "Cameron desired a slow transition, and that was for the best as a fast fall would have looked suspicious. I primarily manipulated the economy, which contrary to popular belief has little to do with supply and demand and everything to do with complex computerized algorithms that few people understand. It is all too easy to manipulate. An economy is everything, Christine. It determines crime rates. Birth rates. Suicide rates. As long as it sputtered and crumbled, people were eager to join Cameron. My original intention was to complete the project and then move onto something else. It was a decent revenge. Empty, of course-but my entire life had always been empty. I knew nothing else. But you-"

"What about me?" she pressed.

"You changed everything."

"What do you mean?"

"You altered my mission. When I heard you sing, I knew I needed you. I would die without you. There was no point in having a life without you, Christine Daae. I loved you when I had never loved anyone or anything else." He looked at her desperately, but she glanced away. His voice became softer, weaker. "At first, of course—well, why would you ever look twice at a monster? No, you would never want me as I wanted you. But, suddenly, I saw what I could give you. No. I would not hand the country over to Cameron Lourdes. Suddenly, my entire existence made sense. This retribution made sense. I would secure myself a place at the top, and you would be the most decorated woman in the world. Along with knowledge and freedom from Cameron's ridiculous rules, that is what I would give you. That is why you would stay."

"I don't want to be a part of this," she whispered. "Erik, people have suffered so much…."

"As did I!" he snapped. "The violence will calm eventually. There will be control after October. Slowly but surely."

"People will fight back! They'll know! The real government will help them!"

"That will be resolved on the red day," he murmured.

"What's going to happen?"

"I will tell you once it is done. And, no, you will not be allowed to watch."

"People will still resist!" she protested.

"They will be dealt with."

Christine gave a frustrated cry. "Erik, you can't!" She took a deep breath and stood, hands clenched at her sides. "I understand that you've been hurt many, many times. Your life was ruined; I even see that. And I know that nothing I say will ever fix it-will ever be good enough. But millions of people are completely innocent. And some of them are good. Many of them are! They don't deserve this!"

"It is too late, my sweet love. It has all been set into motion. From the moment my poor mother conceived me, this has been my path. From the moment your father brought you into the Community, it has been yours."

"I won't," she whispered.

"But you will, Christine. You are my wife. I will never let you go." He walked toward the kitchen. "We are going to a dinner party in several nights. A celebratory event. One of the few times you will be required to be near Cameron. But I wish for him to see us together once as husband and wife. I think it will make my dealings with him more bearable.

"No," she said in an even voice. "I never agreed to that."

"You agreed to stay in my company!"

"But I didn't agree to be _obedient_ in public."

"Then you will stay down here forever and never come out!" he growled.

"Then I will," she whispered. "I'd rather do that than publically support Cameron Lourdes." She paused. "But, for the third event, then yes. Yes, I'll do it."

"No. I told you no more bargains."

"Then I'll just stay down here," she angrily replied.

"Then you will! You can stay down here forever!" He disappeared. A door slammed.

Christine sat there staring numbly at the wall. She had cried and begged and screamed. She had been mean and nice. She had genuinely felt for Erik and wanted to take his hand and comfort him. Had he shown any sign of remorse or that he would cease with this madness….

But he was so far gone.

"I am leaving," he told her that evening. They had not spoken the rest of the afternoon. "I should return by morning."

"Don't," she said one last time.

"Hush."

"I'm watching." She pointed at the television.

"Do as you wish." His voice was raspy. Almost broken.

"Erik—" She walked toward him and reached out.

He flinched backward. "Do not touch me. You…_burn._"

"I want to _help_ you. Let me help you."

He seemed well aware that she did not mean _help_ him take over the country. "You are far, far too late."

He left her there. He climbed the stairs out of the underground home and left her to her tears.

He was going to do it. The third event was going to happen. And there was nothing she could do now.

She held her breath and turned toward the television.

Watching….

_Waiting…._


	29. Chapter 29

Glad that everyone is still enjoying! Thank you for all your support.

**Read and Review!**

Residential. Business. Assembly centers.

Cameron traced a finger along a penciled drawing that several of his Community planners had recently created for him. While Erik may have preferred his fancy technologically advanced equipment, Cameron still favored a good old-fashioned paper map.

Over in the isolated eastern areas—that was where the less cooperative individuals would eventually be placed. Those who went against the rules. Those who didn't believe Cameron's words of truth, beauty, and justice. They would have to be reeducated about the ways of God.

As Cameron worked, he was also listening to the radio and growing increasingly disappointed. Another evening was passing, and there were no major occurrences. Erik's original plan had not proceeded at all. It wasn't that Cameron really cared how this all came about—so long as the elections proved fruitful. He was more concerned about Erik's dependability. This was the most important time of Cameron's life. It was his destiny.

That was why he was almost thankful when his masked employee appeared out of nowhere that evening. "Erik!" He quickly set his drawings to the side and stood. Remembering their frightening encounter, he kept his distance and nodded. "Good evening. I wasn't expecting you. But I have to say that I'm glad to see you. I thought you'd disappeared on me." The yellow eyes were unreadable. Not insane. Not resolved. Almost…_distant_. It unnerved Cameron. With a swallow, he gestured to the radio where a commercial for soap was playing. "I was wondering…."

Erik shrugged. "I have changed the operations. Compacted it into a single magnificent night."

"Why?"

"Simplification."

Cameron scratched the back of his head. "Well, I won't question it. I don't really know about those types of things, being a very peaceful man myself. So long as all goes well with the bigger picture."

"It will. The society is destabilized enough for that one night to make all the difference. And so it will all come together without any unnecessary noise."

"And I'm certain that my multiple connections will step in." Cameron nodded. "Yes. Well. It sounds like you know what you're doing, Erik. It sounds like a smoother plan, if you ask me." Saner, really. Cameron noticed the ring. He half-smiled. "So you _have _married her. That is good."

"Yes." Again, the eyes appeared a little disturbed. Cameron often wished he'd removed that damned mask just so he could better read Erik's expressions.

"You're keeping her under control?"

"She poses no threat to you. I think I have made that clear multiple times."

"So you'll bring her to my little get-together, as I requested? Just to see her, you understand. Put all that nonsense behind us finally?" Erik nodded once. "Good. Let me know if you need help with her. I'm hosting some seminars on the topic. And also…I have to show you something, Erik. Something you might find useful."

"Yes. Well, first, I must inform you of my own intentions. That is why I am here."

"Oh?" Cameron raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"After the elections, after I have fulfilled our agreement, there is the possibility that I will depart."

"_What?"_ Cameron couldn't help but glare slightly. "Is this because of her?"

"You hired me to give you the country," he coldly stated. "Not to govern it. In fact, I thought you had wanted me to leave at the end? I am not precisely your model citizen, am I?"

Cameron sighed. "Not exactly. But…I need you, Erik. There is nothing quite like the Spirit. In fact, I have people asking about your absence. They nearly miss you around here. You and your little miracles. It gives them hope."

Erik looked toward the window. "All tricks and illusions can be taught to another."

"You know that's not true. There will never be anyone who can do what you do. And, well. I also may need you to help bring order. No matter how well you pull this off, there will be resistance to our new society. There will be those who wish to work against the Lord."

Erik shrugged. "You will have manpower to do your bidding, won't you? I can add to that; I have my own loyal forces that I have accumulated. Pay them enough, and they can be yours."

"It's not the same," Cameron insisted, holding out his wrinkled hands. "You can _make _people obey me."

"Can I? What do you wish for, Cameron? Total hypnosis of populations? A torture chamber?"

"That's not what I mean. Well, in certain circumstances, it might be necess—_Argh!_ This is not the point. Is this because of her? Is it?"

"I told you not to speak of her. It is solely for me. I dislike staying in one place too long. Did I not tell you that long ago?"

Cameron snorted in disbelief. "If you want her obedience, I can give that to you. In fact, I want to show you—"

"I do not want her obedience!" Erik snapped. "I wish for her happiness."

"Ah. But an obedient woman is a happy woman. Everyone is much happier with the natural order of things."

Erik laughed. "Cameron, didn't you learn long ago not to preach to me? If I decide to remain here, you will not have any say in her. If I tell you that Christine is your new vice president, you will nod your head in compliance. Do you understand me?"

"My vice pr-pr-"

"I jest, you idiot." He sighed. "I will inform you later of my final decision. For now, think only of our important night. Now what exactly did you wish to show me?"

"Nothing." Cameron swallowed nervously and looked away. "A building design. It can wait."

Erik eyed him. "I believe I would like to know now."

"Oh. Well…." Cameron quickly came up with another valid idea. It was clearly not the time to show Erik his new policy. That damned girl had clouded his mind. "See this map?" Cameron roughly pointed to it. "On this side over here is for those who don't join willingly. Because there will be those, won't there? Could you bring some cohesion to the concept? I have other men on it, but, as I said, they are not you."

Erik glanced at it. "Those who do not wish to join you will likely try to flee the region. Do you have enough manpower to stop them?"

"I think so. What do you think?"

"That was your job to determine. I create chaos; you bring order. Remember?"

Cameron growled in frustration at Erik's apathy. "This is why I need you! I'll give you anything! I'll give you six wives, if you want!" The hot glare he received made Cameron decide that wasn't the best suggestion. "I'll give you the highest place in my cabinet. What the hell do you want from me? _What?_"

"I want—" Erik paused and stared at the floor for a long moment. "I want to return home to my wife. I will see you at your little dinner."

Cameron eyed him. "And the final night? All will proceed as planned?"

"Of course. Bring champagne, Mr. Lourdes. Or do you not drink? I never remember all your fickle rules." He shrugged. "Ah well. We will celebrate either way. The night will be ours. Five years in the making, right?" Erik disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.

Oh, how Cameron despised that girl.

One of his guards entered his office an hour later. Cameron was still seething.

"Sir, a girl tried to escape from Neighborhood 18. Age seventeen. Came to the Community with her family three years ago. Due to be married in one week. I wasn't sure whether we were now-"

"Enact half the policy," grimly replied Cameron. "We need to begin setting some examples, right? Still, since she's under eighteen, we'll keep it half."

"Half the policy?"

"Don't be stupid." This was why Cameron needed Erik. The lack of brains in some of these men was incredibly irritating. "One instead of both?"

"Ah. Yes, Sir. Half the policy."

"And make sure there are no butterflies around when it's done. Our policy is still in its testing phases. Stay quiet about it."

"I understand, Sir."

* * *

With Cocoa sleeping on her lap, Christine remained in front of the television all night.

At one point, the anchorman announced breaking news, and she nearly had a heart attack. But it was a plane crash in Europe. Sad—but not Erik. She sniffled and wiped her eyes as her heart slowly calmed. Cocoa meowed and yawned, perhaps sensing her stress.

Erik silently entered during the early morning hours, and she glanced up at him as a shadow fell over the living area. He stared down at her with surprise and anger. "You really stayed up all hours of the damned night? My dear, you are completely-" He shook his head and placed a hand on top of the couch as though to support himself. It was the most weary she'd ever seen him. "You are completely beyond comprehension."

"You didn't do it?" she countered.

"You will accompany me to that dinner party. Your bargain, after all. I hope being in the presence of the honorable Cameron Lourdes is well worth it." Erik pitched his voice to make it sound like he was the one who could claim victory. Still, Christine knew that she had just won again. Oh, but she wouldn't gloat. She didn't have the energy or desire to do so. Her shoulders collapsed backwards in relief as her body finally unrolled from a ball of tension.

"Thank you, Erik," she whispered.

"For God's sake, go to bed!" She stood and walked over to him instead. He leaned back, still glaring at her. "I told you not to touch me. You attempt to manipulate me with your touches. You will not do so again, do you understand?"

"Erik." She took another step toward him.

"This will not prevent the end. Nothing will. I spoke with Cameron, and it will all proceed forward as planned. Do you understand? Do you, Christine?"

She'd fight that battle later. "I don't want anything right now. It's not a bargain. I'm doing this for me."

He laughed tauntingly. "Why ever would you touch me for yourself? Is that not like breaking one's own fingers for the joy of it?"

His eyes were angry, but she didn't sense danger or madness. So Christine took the risk of stepping forward and embracing him. Erik tensed and seemed to be debating whether to throw her off. She closed her eyes and braced herself. Still, she held on. Her arms wrapped all the way around his bony waist and crossed over each other. His suit smelled like the outdoors, like dust and vegetation.

She felt him finally touch her head with the tips of his fingers, as though he were petting a small animal that might bite him. Christine dared to glance up and saw only caution in his eyes now. "I simply…wish to give you what no one else can," he softly explained, now affectionately running his entire hand over her hair. "That is all. If you would only understand that, you would be happy. Please be happy. It kills Erik to see you cry."

"Erik, you already gave me knowledge. And you made me want to learn and know new things. That was all you, you know?" She paused. "I guess I…learned more that you wanted me to…."

"Yes," he replied in a defeated voice. "I knew you would not understand."

She shook her head and stepped back. From his posture, he seemed disappointed. "But I do now. I understand you're very angry. I just don't think you have to do this. Take revenge on people who had nothing to do with your suffering."

"I do not wish to speak of it now."

"All right."

"Are you tired?" he asked.

"Not really." She was still very high on adrenaline from waiting to see if the third event would occur. If Christine had to go through many more nights like this, she'd probably die of a heart attack.

"If you are not going to bed, I wish to show you something. I _can _do other things, Christine. They are simply useless little tricks. But you will like this one."

She nodded in agreement. Nervously, Christine followed him out of the underground home and then walked with him down the path to the third elevator. Again, he disabled the other Christine when they arrived on the lower floor. Then he went to the central computer and typed something on the keyboard. The lights quickly dimmed, and there was a flash as a soft, white glow engulfed the room. Christine blinked and curled her arms up into her chest protectively. Erik's eyes glowed in the dark as he turned toward her. "Choose one, my dear. The ocean. The rainforest. The savannah. The mountains. Choose a place."

"Um, the ocean," she softly replied.

"A perfect choice." Another flash. And suddenly a bluish, wavy light filled the room, giving the appearance of water. She was amused by this but then gaped as a school of orange fish with black eyes swam past her. Yellow sea horses and purplish jelly fish bobbed up and down in the water. Colorful coral reef surrounded her on all sides. Christine softly gasped as a tiger shark swam in circles in the distance. Light from above filtered through the water and rippled on her skin. All of it was an illusion, of course, like the other Christine. Still, it was extremely realistic...and extremely beautiful. Erik flipped another switch, and there was sound as well. Gentle and distant echoes beneath the ocean. "And then, if you wish to be a bit theatrical—" Very soft and smooth piano music began to play, accompanying the scene.

She turned around and around, watching the underwater world with fascination. Her stress evaporated, and she almost lost herself in the cool blueness. Finally, Erik pushed a button, and everything disappeared. The lights flashed on. She blinked as the weight of reality fell back heavily on her shoulders. "Erik…." She swallowed thickly. "That was wonderful."

"I could show you anything," he explained. "Take you anywhere. That does not mean I will not take you real places one day, of course. I will do that, too." He shrugged. "Anyhow, a simple trick for your amusement. It is nice to see you smile sometimes."

"I knew you could do other things," she eagerly replied. "I mean, you could do anything you wanted. Science. Music. Art. All of it combined—just like this." Christine paused. "I would help, you know?"

"How do I know you would not leave me?" he asked, looking away with his hands folded behind his back. The room was still somewhat dim, the glows of the various machines casting them both in eerie lights. "Say I took you far away from here, as you are requesting-bought you a small house aboveground and whatever else you desired. How do I know you would not run the second I glance away?"

"Well, Erik…." She sighed. "I can promise a million times. I…can even swear on Cameron's book. That's holy enough, isn't it?"

He softly chuckled. "He would think so, I am sure." Erik made a forward motion with his hand. "Let us return upstairs. You must sleep. We will think of other things later."

Christine nodded. But then-she made a fatal mistake in that short moment. It was just a glance. An innocent glance at the screen where she'd seen Raoul and Phillip the last time. But, of course, Erik saw and took it the wrong way.

"You still pine for that wretched boy!" he growled.

"No, I—"

"I know what you are thinking, my love. You think you can take everything from Erik and then leave him! That is why you will not win."

She gritted her teeth. "Erik, I am _worried _about their safety. If you would release them, I wouldn't mention him or Phillip ever again. Why don't you understand that?"

He turned off everything in the room, and they were left in darkness. "We are returning. You will attend the dinner party with me as my loyal wife. As you bargained. If our entire marriage must be a game, then so be it. So be it. It is better than hellish solitude. It is. _It is…_." She flinched as the last sentence nearly became a sob.

"Oh, Erik…." With a heavy heart, Christine returned to the surface and immediately headed for bed. Still, instead of silently sulking, she stayed near Erik for those next couple of days, thinking that her presence would do more good than anything else. She sat beside him in the evenings and asked him questions about her textbooks. She made dinner one night after insisting that it had nothing to do with being a good wife-a pasta and vegetable dish with a cream sauce of her own invention. She sang when he requested it, and she hugged him goodnight and held his hand when they went to the surface. Sometimes she thought he looked nearly happy.

Yet no one could be truly happy under these conditions. Christine didn't know what she was anymore. She could only exist in the present these days, play through each moment as it came without any thought of the distant future. She needed to get beyond that final day. That was where sanity existed.

The dinner party approached. On the one hand, she dreaded Cameron and his awful Community. On the other hand, a part of her desired to see if any changes had occurred in her long absence. Maybe she could do a bit of spying.

"We will leave in two hours," he told her. "I suppose you will want to change. Although I do not care if you wear slippers and jeans."

"Only if you wear them with me, Erik." She liked the bewildered gleam in his eyes whenever she said something unexpected. It reminded her that he was a man-that he had once been a lost little boy.

Christine went to her room to change and stared at the row of longer dresses. She hadn't dressed up like a Community woman in many weeks. That entire life seemed so distant now. She put on a long, pine green gown that reached her wrists and ankles. Velvet buttons decorated the front, and the neckline practically hugged her throat. She wrapped her hair up in a bow of the same color and glanced at herself in the mirror. Good enough. Erik actually laughed when she emerged. "What?" she half-snapped.

"No. I do not mean to be cruel. It is simply…well, I am very glad that you are not there any longer." He paused. "The first time I heard you sing, I was hiding behind the stage-my attention on something more important than Cameron's inane speech. I only heard your voice; I could not see you. And then I nearly ripped the entire curtain down to get a glimpse. You were so small. So frightened. Yet your voice-"

"Heh. Well, I was terrified. My dad thought that would be the only way I'd get a…well, that someone would notice me. I guess he was right." She hesitated. "So you asked Cameron if you could talk to me?"

"Asked? My love, I demanded it. I said I would be the Spirit for you. That is the only way you would not flee. To be honest, I had long considered waiting until after the country was in Cameron's hands to even reveal myself to you. But when that idiot first took you away, showed you the world, I knew I had to act."

She frowned and then dared to say, "You know what I really wish, Erik? I wish that you would have taken me out of that awful place from the very beginning."

"No. You would have run. The instant you saw what I was, you would have fled."

"I might have been frightened at first," she admitted. "But after you explained everything and I was given time-and maybe some time by myself….Well, I would have been very grateful. I wouldn't have left you."

"It is time to go," he tiredly murmured. She nodded, but she sensed him slowly breaking down.

As always, it was good to return to the surface. The drive through the city was peaceful, and the world appeared to be generally the same. There was poverty and sadness but no violence or danger. Christine wondered if that was partially thanks to her. She looked at Erik. He was staring forward, hands balled into fists. "Why did you really want me to come to this?" she asked. "Cameron hates me."

"He requested your presence. And—the idiot has become a bit fixated on you. I think seeing you will silence him. If it does not, I will have to resort to…other means. In any case, after this evening, your visitations with him will be very rare. I will see to that."

Cameron's compound eventually loomed over them. It looked as though it had been renovated. The entire Community seemed to eerily sparkle, and she could tell that it was thriving and growing. The expansion stretched far back beyond what the eye could see. They took their normal path through the garage and dark passageways. Instead of heading toward Cameron's office, though, Erik led her down another empty hallway. They climbed a set of carpeted stairs, and the lights were bright as they reached the top. She heard the deep voices of many men and felt her heart jump. Occasionally, the softer voice of a woman was audible.

Erik raised a gloved hand and knocked at a polished wooden door. Within several seconds, it opened. Cameron stood there in a more formal suit than she was used to seeing him wear. His beard was trimmed. "Erik," greeted Cameron with a smile. He glanced at her. While he still grinned, the loathing was evident in his eyes. "Christine," he said with a nod.

"We will not be staying long," said Erik. "You wanted an appearance."

"Yes," replied Cameron. "You will remain a Spirit to my Community, but you cannot remain that way to everyone. Not when you will be at the head of all meetings that I cannot attend. I told you I would hand you a place at the top. Tonight you will begin to claim that place."

Erik said nothing, but Christine sensed a tension in the air.

Cameron stepped back and gestured toward a large dining area with a long dark wood table and a golden chandelier. Silver dishes covered in ornate lids sat atop the table, and chairs with dark red cushioned seats surrounded it. Many men of different ages were gathered around the feast, from elderly to barely older than her. They wore black suits and ties, and she didn't recognize any of them from the Community. "These men are all lesser versions of you," Cameron said in a soft voice. "Doing a bit of background work for me throughout the country. Some are former congressmen. Lobbyists. The wealthy. They are not true believers. But they have their reasons for supporting me, and they have vast resources. Erik, you have shown me that some compromise is necessary."

"I see," Erik murmured, eyeing them all with disdain. Christine could only stare with a growing sense of dread forming in her stomach.

Cameron walked into the room and cleared his throat. The men glanced up, and their eyes immediately fell upon Erik with fear, fascination, and curiosity. "I'd like to introduce my architect," he began in a loud voice. "My mastermind. As with the rest of you, no names for now. Although most of you are already aware of our little singer here, Christine." One of the men nodded at her and smiled. She glared and looked away. "This man is really responsible for most of my success," continued Cameron. "Once the transition is complete, he will head many of your meetings. This man knows what he is doing. When he speaks, I suggest that the rest of you listen."

"Why aren't the rest of us wearing masks?" asked an older man with a beard.

She could feel Erik's anger. Yet he said nothing.

Cameron grunted. "That is his choice. You'll respect it. And if you want to wear one next time, by all means do so." The man rolled his eyes but remained silent. Cameron turned to Erik. "The other wives are in the room next door." His voice fell to a whisper, but Christine was still able to hear. "They are already a corrupted sort of women. I mean, they haven't been trained in the proper ways. It's something to deal with later, I guess. So I suppose she can go eat with them."

"Yes," Erik evenly replied. "Unless you wish her to remain here?"

"No," Cameron muttered. He turned to her. "Christine, you may go into the door on your right. I think they've begun to eat." She desperately wanted to stay and listen but, after a glance at Erik, obediently headed in the indicated direction.

"Do we all get little wives that look like this?" She heard one of the younger men ask this as she left.

"If you want one," Cameron wryly replied.

Christine shook her head in disgust and glanced at Erik again. He wasn't looking at her, but his eyes appeared highly aggravated and angry. _Good._ He wasn't enjoying himself. They could both be miserable.

Opening the heavy door, she stared at seven woman sitting around a similar dining table. They were also of varying ages. Looking up, they all greeted her with nods and 'hellos.' They were clothed as she was—in long dresses that looked more like costumes than actual Community attire. There was an eerie falseness to all of it. One of the younger women passed her a china plate, and Christine stared down at her ham and pineapple slices as they continued a conversation about...She squinted and glanced up. A foreign movie?

"Yes, it was a little out there for me," said a middle-aged woman with brown hair that curled just beneath her chin. "What do you call it? A little abstract and just plain weird. But so much better than anything produced here."

"I saw one like that from Italy the other day," replied a slightly younger woman with curly blonde hair. "Oh, what was it called? Darn. I can't remember. I think it translated to _Turn Off the Lights. _Something like that. It was scary but kind of erotic." The other women all hummed in interest. There was silence as they began to eat, interrupted by the occasional comment about how delicious the food tasted. Christine would steal glimpses of them all, attempting to read their thoughts.

A woman directly on her right with wavy longer brown hair and plump red cheeks spoke. "You're Christine, aren't you? I know we're not giving names. But you're—I know you already. From television."

"Yes," she replied and shifted awkwardly.

"John—err, whoops." She giggled as if this were all a joke. "I mean, my husband says that your husband is very, very important. Next to Cameron, the most important of all. Is he in there now? Is that true?"

"I don't know," she muttered, looking away and wishing to disappear.

"No politics at the table," an older woman with short curly grey hair chided. "We all get enough of that at home as it is, don't we?" The others nodded in agreement. "Ugh." She rolled her eyes. "We were just talking about movies, Christine. What are your favorites?"

"Oh. Um. I like…_The Wizard of Oz," _she softly replied. They all laughed, and she felt her face burn.

"That's fine, sweetie," said the older woman. "Ladies," she said, looking at the other women with a scowl. "Christine is…well, she was raised inside this place. So please don't be rude."

"Oh," said the middle-aged brunette. "Well, we'll show you some good movies. The best ones are all foreign now that Hollywood has gone kaput."

Christine could no longer suppress her confusion. "Wait. I don't understand." She raised the volume of her voice, and they turned to stare at her. "You're…you're all allowed to see movies?"

The brunette raised an eyebrow. "Well, aren't you now?"

"Yes, but I'm—but doesn't Cameron forbid it?"

The blonde laughed. "Don't be silly. We're not like…_them._ Out there. No offense to you."

"I don't understand," said Christine, unable to keep the contempt out of her voice.

"Well, this is how my hubby explained it to me," the blonde continued despite halfhearted protests from some of the others. "Most of the intelligent and wealthy people fled the country when everything got so bad. There are exceptions. Our husbands—who stayed behind to help Cameron. A few well-meaning powerful families like the Chagnys tried to piece things back together like they used to be, but that was a lost cause." Christine flinched at this statement. "So, anyway, with the smart and rich people all gone—it's the poor and erm…less smart people out there. That's all that's left, right? So they have to be heavily controlled and monitored or else they'll eat each other alive. My husband says that Cameron's rules will be good for them. We on the other hand-well, we'll do as we please."

The brunette laughed. "That's right. Although…." She smirked. "It could have been explained with a bit more tact. Anyway, I've warned my husband if he tries to take my movies from me, I'll move to Europe." They all laughed and murmured their agreement.

Feeling sick to her stomach, Christine softly excused herself as they continued their conversation about foreign films. She wandered into the hallway and could hear the voices of the men in the next room. They were talking about geographic locations, how each would be set up and controlled depending on the population size. She never heard Erik's voice. Christine turned the knob and carefully peeked inside. At first, she didn't even see her husband. Eventually, her eyes focused on the shadows in the farthest corner. Erik was standing there with his arms crossed. She glanced back at the table with the men. These were not the people of the Community, people who shared Cameron's vision for a godly society. By the way they ran their hands together and grinned, she could sense their excitement and desire for power.

A hand clamped down roughly upon her shoulder. She jumped and gasped.

"Hello, Christine." Cameron spoke softly into her ear. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Yes," she whispered with a shiver. She had stupidly not noticed that he was no longer in the dining room. Christine braced herself.

His hand tightened around her shoulder to the point of pain. "You listen to me, you little bitch," he whispered in a cruel voice. "I don't know your plans or what you're up to. But I do know women. Whatever evil tricks you're using against Erik with your devil's ways, I will find out. Mark my words, if things don't happen as they're supposed to within the next week, the people you care about will suffer. Maybe you can't be touched. For now. But all the women you knew, that Valerius woman, they will suffer for your sins. Do you understand me?" She was frozen. He shook her back and forth. "I said, do you understand?!"

"Yes!" she nearly spat.

"Good girl." Cameron loosened his grip and ran his hand down her arm. She shivered in disgust. "You've already been such an inspiration, you know? I've learned fast how important it is to keep your kind under control." There was a burst of laughter from the dining room with the women. Cameron glanced up and glared toward it. "Lots of work to do. But soon everyone will come around to my way of thinking, right?" She said nothing. He patted her on the head and released her, before heading back into the room with the men.

With horror, Christine turned to dash back into the dining room with the women. Just as she put her hand on the knob, another palm gently fell onto her shoulder. She yelped and turned around.

Erik stared down at her. "What are you doing here?" he inquired. He glanced toward the room where the women were giggling. "Bored with mindless drivel? As am I. We will leave soon and avoid these occasions as often as possible."

She warily stared at him, relieved that he wasn't Cameron and yet so very angry that Erik was a part of all of this. Would he even care that Cameron had just threatened her? Probably—but only because he loved her. Not for the right reasons. Not because what Cameron Lourdes was doing was truly evil.

It took her a moment to find her voice. "Erik, will you let me see Mrs. Valerius before we go?" Her voice shook. Cameron's words had struck fear into her heart. Had she really just been given a whole new set of hostages to worry about? Would this never end?

"That was not really my plan."

"Please," she whispered. "This isn't a trick. I promise. I just…I really want to see her. I miss her."

"Yes," he muttered. "I will take you in a few minutes, to please you."

"Thank you."

Somehow, Erik excused them both. Thankfully, he was as eager to get out of there as she was. Christine said a soft goodbye to the other women, and they enthusiastically waved back. She thought that they were rather naïve, thinking Cameron's laws would never affect them. Then again, maybe there would be a hierarchy where some suffered more than others.

It all disgusted her.

It all shouldn't even be happening.

"Be quick," said Erik when their car pulled up by Mrs. Valerius' home.

"I will." She rushed out into the darkness and nearly pounded on the door. _Please let her be okay. _To her relief, the older woman answered. A yellow knitted shawl covered her shoulders, and her grey hair was swept up into a bun.

"Christine!" she exclaimed. "I wasn't expecting to see you tonight." Christine dove forward and embraced her tightly. "Oh my. Well, it's good to see you, too, dear. Are you okay?"

"Yes," Christine whispered.

"Are you married now? I heard strange things…"

"I'm married," she quickly replied. "I'm fine. But how are you?"

"Oh, I'm well. About the same as always." Still, there was an odd note in her voice.

"Are you sure?" Christine checked to make sure there were no nearby butterflies.

"Yes. I'm fine, dear." She paused and then whispered, "But the rules have changed around here. No one is allowed out now."

"Oh no," Christine murmured.

"Yes, it's very dangerous out in the evil world. I guess we're being protected…."

"Is that all that's changed? Please tell me. I don't have very long to talk."

"Well, I can't really say right now. It's not safe. But most things are the same."

"Please?" she begged. "Give me anything. You need to tell me what's happening. I might be the only one who can help."

Mrs. Valerius hesitated and stared at her curiously. Nearly mouthing the words her voice was so soft, she said, "Well, this girl…. She's a little younger than you. Lauren Mills, I think is her name."

Christine rapidly nodded. "Yes, I remember meeting her once."

"Yes, that's right. She…tried to run away about a week ago."

Her heart skipped a beat. "What happened to her?"

"I don't exactly know. But I haven't seen her in a while. I have seen her mother and sister, though, and they look absolutely sick. But they won't talk about it. I've heard of similar occurrences nearby."

"That's all you know?" Christine asked. "You don't know what's happening?"

"Yes. I promise. That's it." Mrs. Valerius shook her head. "These are very strange times. You never know what to believe, do you?"

Christine hugged her again. "Please take care. Stay safe."

"You, too, dear." They exchanged a last troubled glance before Christine turned around and headed back to the car.

Her hands were shaking as she climbed inside, and she slowly looked up at her husband. _Did he know anything? _He was the only one with enough power to stop this. He was her only hope, and that was utterly terrifying. "What is wrong with you now?" he tiredly asked. Erik pushed a button that made a glass panel rise up so that their conversation was concealed even from the half deaf driver.

"Erik," she whispered. "I think something very terrible is happening. Or going to happen. I don't know what. But-but I think it's terrible." As they departed, she finally told him about Cameron and Mrs. Valerius. If he didn't believe her or didn't care—well, she was out of ideas anyway. This was it. This was the end.

Of course, Cameron's words and actions set off his temper. "That sniveling little idiot. How dare he touch you! I will—"

"Erik," she interrupted. "I don't care if Cameron insults me or, God, even hurts me. I don't care! I care about what's happening to all of these people." She hesitated. "Do you know what's happening to the girls? Don't lie to me. Please just tell me. What's going on?"

"I do not know. I do not. _You_ have taken my attention this last month. You have consumed my thoughts and moments. Cameron rules as he pleases."

She didn't know if she believed him. "Is the final event still going to happen?" she asked, unable to keep the utter desperation from creeping into her voice. "Are you still going to do this?"

His answer was the only thing that kept her from descending into irreparable hopelessness.

"I do not know."


	30. Chapter 30

Thanks again, everyone! I'm glad you all hate my villain. A lot of what he says and thinks is based on fairly real stuff.

The chapter after this one should be very exciting :)

**Read and Review!**

"You don't know?" she whispered in hopeful disbelief.

"I do not wish to discuss it at this time." He briefly placed a hand to his forehead and massaged his temples. As the car left the Community, Erik turned to look out the window. His fingers curled, and his thumb and index finger rubbed together.

Her mouth fell open to argue and then slowly closed. She didn't want to anger him at this important moment. It was the first time that he was not certain about the final day.

When they returned to his home, Erik merely said, "Change out of that horrific outfit and go to bed." His movements were less smooth, and his voice shook.

She obeyed, heading into her room and slipping into some soft cotton pajamas. When she was finished, Christine opened the door slightly and glanced outside. Erik's forearm was bent up against the wall, and he was leaning forward and burying his face into the crook of it. His shoulders moved up and down with each slow breath. A part of her wished to go out and comfort him, but Christine thought it was almost better that he feel this distress. Maybe he would change his mind—would realize the scope of the human suffering in all this. She went to bed with this hope.

As always, Erik made her breakfast, sweet strawberries and waffles this time. He was unusually quiet, though, asking no questions about her studies or anything else. There was no "my beauty" or even "my wife." She could see a slight shaking in his hands as he poured her milk.

"You could join me," she softly suggested. "There's lots of food."

"I do not eat breakfast."

"You just eat after I go to bed?" Christine knew this because, whenever she made meals or desserts, some of the food was always missing when she awoke the next day.

"Yes."

"Well, you're always welcome to eat with me. It's fine if you remove the mask, Erik."

He made a strange grunting noise from the back of his throat and left her there. Desperately, she was trying to create some sort of normal life for them both. He had to know that, if he left all this behind and abandoned his plans for revenge, there was light at the end of this tunnel. Maybe breakfast with her wasn't nearly as exciting as ruling a country, but…well, she still had little to offer beyond herself.

With fear, she soon braved his temper and asked about the girls again. Precious time was ticking by—time that Cameron could use to do…whatever awful thing he was doing to them. "Erik, is there any way to see what might be happening to those women?"

He glanced at her from the piano. "After you went to bed, I checked the surveillance system. I could see nothing. Perhaps the halfwit is only trying to scare you. I will speak to him. He will never threaten nor touch you again."

"But Mrs. Valerius said the girl disappeared."

"Don't they simply put people into closets to dwell on their sins or some nonsense?"

"They did before." She glared slightly. "But that wasn't so nice either. Being trapped in a dark little hole for hours and hours while a bunch of adults tell you how terrible you are?"

His eyes softened. "That will never happen to you again."

"No." She was growing increasingly frustrated with his passivity. "I'm trapped in a very nice place, and that probably makes me the luckiest woman in this part of the country. Me and those other ladies at dinner. We'll all be locked away in fancy safe places with lots of foreign movies to watch and books to read-while the rest of the women are tortured."

"Cease with your dramatics."

"I'm not even exaggerating! That's the truth! This is what's happening!"

He turned toward her, eyes fiery. "So you consider yourself trapped still? With me. Of course you do. Trapped with your monster husband."

She sighed in distress. "Erik, I am your wife. But, you know, I remember my parents. My mom left the house to go to the store or the bank or to run errands. Or to even go spend some time with her friends and family. She had lots of freedom."

"The world was different at that time. Safer."

"And why is that?!" she couldn't help but snap. Immediately, Christine regretted her anger, thinking it would set her back on her mission. But Erik didn't yell. He just stared down at the keys with distant eyes, almost as if he hadn't even heard her. She softened her voice. "Did you really see nothing on the surveillance videos? Even if it's horrible, I'd like to know the truth. I've earned that, I think."

He shook his head slightly. "I saw nothing. Empty homes. Either nothing is occurring, or…Mr. Lourdes has become wise to my setup and has learned how to escape detection."

"I know something bad is happening." He didn't reply. "How many more days until the final one?"

"Three."

"What will happen?"

"I do not wish to speak of that now."

She clenched her jaw. "Will you have to leave that night?"

"Yes." He quickly flipped to a page of music. "Now you will sing something for me. Your voice will carry us out of this very unpleasant conversation. I am sure it will. Your voice will repair everything."

"But—"

"You will sing. As you bargained."

Frustration marred her voice, but Erik said nothing of it. As she sang, Christine attempted to develop some type of plan in her mind. For the next few days, she would continue to reach out to him as she had been. If she wasn't successful, then it would come down to that final night. She either couldn't let him leave—through tears and begging. Stopping him through physical force was unlikely. Or she would have to insist on going with him. She could not let Erik leave her sight.

She prayed that she could reach him before it became that desperate.

"Can we go on a walk?" she asked that evening.

"It is very cool outside." His voice remained distant.

"I'll take a jacket. I'd really like some fresh air."

He finally nodded. "Yes. Yes, that will be fine. I do enjoy walks with my wife."

When they arrived at their familiar spot in one of the non-community cars, Christine turned and looked down. Slowly, she tugged the glove off his left hand, revealing the white flesh beneath it. "What are you doing?" he asked with alarm.

"I want to hold your hand. Not a glove. Unless it's too cold?"

"No," he whispered. She took his hand, and he hummed softly and squeezed her fingers.

"You are very lovely," he told her, looking down as the cool breeze whipped her hair back and forth. The curled fall leaves crunched beneath their feet. Even Erik's footsteps were not completely silent.

She smiled and tried not to make it a sad smile. "Thank you, Erik. I like going places with you."

"I would like to take you all over the world."

"Take me right now," she said. "There's nothing stopping you. Not really." He was silent, and so she cautiously continued. "Imagine just staying in hotels for a while and seeing parts of the world. We would order in food. Go to the old castles in Europe or see all the new architecture in Asia. And then, if we settled down, you could work on your projects-your music and computer…um…things. And I could try to work on my future. And we would be together."

"You had a conversation like this with the boy. Will you close your eyes the entire time and pretend it is him you are with?"

"No, Erik. No." God, he had seen and heard everything. Did she and Raoul really believe they'd ever had a chance? They had been two naïve children…. "We were talking about things we'd like to do. Now I'm sharing that with you. Don't you want to know what I want?"

He said nothing, and they walked in silence. Erik did grip her hand very tightly, perhaps holding on for dear life. Christine wasn't sure if she made any progress that day. He was very quiet and very vague, which she supposed was preferable to proclamations that taking over the country was their only destiny. She was going to continue her path the next day, but, to her concern and disappointment, Erik wasn't there when she woke up. A bowl of cereal and a cup of fruit had been placed out for her breakfast. A chilled turkey sandwich was in the refrigerator for her lunch. A few panicked thoughts raced through her mind like: _What if he moved the final day up?! _

Christine switched on the television, but nothing new had happened. Her heart calmed, but she still waited nervously on the couch all day, occasionally trying to distract herself with a book or handcraft. Erik finally returned late that afternoon, appearing in the living room and walking past her without a word toward the kitchen.

She stood. "Where were you?" she asked with a more accusatory tone than she meant to use.

"Out."

She eyed him. "Did you find out anything? About the girls, I mean?"

"I did not go to the Community."

"Then where did you go?"

"Out," he nearly growled.

She gave up. "I missed you." Christine returned to her book.

"That is likely."

He was obviously in a terrible mood. She allowed him to become lost in his piano music for the rest of the evening. Erik closed his eyes as he played, in deep concentration and practically swaying with the soft legato notes. Christine gave his stiff torso a brief hug when the song was over and went to bed. It felt like a lost day. But maybe Erik needed to fight some demons by himself; maybe he'd reached his own conclusions. She only prayed that he hadn't been out making preparations for the final day.

_The final day._

When she awoke, she realized with growing horror that the final day was tomorrow. Christine took a deep and shaky breath as she climbed out of bed. She hoped Erik hadn't disappeared again. A warm salty scent greeted her as soon as she opened her door. He was standing in the kitchen cooking ham, eggs, pepper, and onion on an iron skillet.

"Good morning, Erik." He nodded at her. His eyes were still deeply disturbed. Still, she knew she couldn't allow his terrible mood to deter her again. Time was far too short. Christine pursued him after she ate half her meal, nearly knocking a glass of orange juice off the table in the process. "Erik."

"Yes?" He was near the closet, flipping through a large hardback book.

"Tomorrow," she whispered.

"What of it?" he snapped.

"What will you do?" she asked.

"I do not know."

She wasn't going to let him get away this easily again. "How can you not know? It either happens or it doesn't, right?"

"Leave me."

"No. I won't. Erik, everything will change tomorrow. One way or another, it does. What are you going to do?"

"What happens will happen."

She groaned and rubbed a hand over her face. "You're-you're making me crazy, you know? I'm an anxious mess. I just want to know."

"If you did not care so much, you would be fine. You are fine. You are safe and taken care of and very, very loved. You have nothing to fear!"

"I care about everyone else! About the people in the Community and outside of it. And about Raoul and Phillip and Meg and Caroline and Mrs. Valerius! I'm not going to stop caring about them!"

"But not about Erik!" he roared.

"Erik, I do care about you," she whispered. "Of course I do."

"No." He backed away from her. "No, everything you do is a manipulation to get your way. A game. A bargain. You only pretend to care to get what you want."

"I don't. But I guess you'll never know unless you don't go through with tomorrow. Until you free Raoul. Until you can't hold anything against me, you'll never believe me. But I care, Erik—despite how hard you sometimes make it."

"You make _me_ insane!" he growled, walking past her in a black blur. She stepped out of his way to avoid being knocked over. "I cannot think! I do not know. Five years. Five years only to be stopped by you? You? It is all you, isn't it? All of it. You are cruel, Christine. To invade my life and change _everything._"

Before she could respond, he began playing something very horrible on the piano. At first, she thought he was just banging random keys, but the notes soon formed a very macabre, loud, and unpleasant melody. Placing her hands to her ears, Christine ran out of the room before the sound made her completely crazy. She put her head beneath her pillow as it continued, the notes penetrating the door to her bedroom. She couldn't even think, wrapping the pillow over her ears as tightly as possible.

On and on and on. For hours, it seemed.

Finally, she came out, eyes bloodshot and face drained of color. "Erik!" she nearly screamed. "Stop! _Please stop!_"

He ceased playing and sharply glanced at her. "Why? Because you are beginning to feel as mad as I am? Good. Now you know what you do to me. Now you know."

"What!?" She clenched her jaw. "I didn't ask for you to hear me sing that day. I didn't ask for you to be the Spirit. And I certainly didn't ask you to bring me here! Why do you and Cameron want to blame me for everything?"

"I am not him!"

"Then stop helping him! Stop acting like any of this is my fault! It's not! So stop punishing me!" She placed her face in her hands and sat on the couch. Softly, she started to sob, still able to hear that awful melody echoing in her mind.

There were several minutes of silence. He slowly knelt beside her knees. "No, it is not," he whispered, gently toughing the side of her head. "It is…not your fault that Erik adores you. That Erik-that I must keep you forever. I simply do not…_know_ anything any longer. I once knew everything, and now I know nothing. You want so many answers, but I do not know. I do not, my love."

Wiping away her tears with the back of her hand, she slowly looked up at him, feeling exhausted. "Erik," she said in a hoarse voice. "Come here, okay?" Christine reached out, grabbed him by the narrow shoulders, and guided him up to sit beside her. He nearly looked afraid of her as he did so without too much resistance. With a shaky breath, she gently hugged him against her. He shivered and closed his eyes, resting his head near her neck and chest. One of his hands fell limply into her lap.

"You are so warm and soft," he murmured after several minutes, closing his eyes. "Even if you only do this because of the bargain, it is still so…so very nice."

She wasn't doing it for that reason. They were both just so damn desperate and sad that she felt they needed a moment of blameless peace. Christine kept her hands away from his face but lightly touched his sparse hair. He was so thin that she wondered how he did anything—much less controlled the entire world. She could feel him breathing and see the rapid pulse on his pale neck. A human being. A very lost, angry, and confused human being. They sat there for a very long time. Finally, he looked up at her.

"You will hate me after tomorrow, won't you?" he asked like a child who'd done something bad. "You may never love me, but your eyes do not hate me. Not yet."

"It will probably be very hard for me to feel good toward you," she admitted. Time continued to tick by. In twenty-four hours or so, everything would be decided. She had to know what she was dealing with. "Please tell me what's going to happen. Can't you at least give me that?"

He sat up straight and turned away, fingers drumming against the sofa as his eyes narrowed in thought. "The other events," he said slowly. "The ones that did not happen. They existed to destabilize things further."

She nodded. "I see. I'm glad they didn't happen." Christine touched his shoulder in gratitude and to encourage him to continue.

"Tomorrow, during the day, a similar but larger event is to first occur in the afternoon. It would destroy a major financial district. It would also appear as though the CAC and other socialist-leaning groups were responsible, which would force the government to neutralize them. The economy would continue to suffer; people would descend into complete panic."

"That's the final day?"

"No. That is simply more chaos." Erik paused. "Please…please understand that I finalized the details of this plan soon after you-you left me. I had always anticipated a massive occurrence in October, before the elections. But it became worse after you-" He swallowed. "I wanted others to suffer as I was suffering, you see. When I returned and discovered you missing, I could not see clearly. I searched for you and was delayed by the ring. And for a moment…for a moment, I thought you really had drowned. But _no_."

"Did you try to stop us?" she asked. "When you realized I was alive."

"A half-hearted attempt," he murmured.

"Why?"

"I saw recordings of you. Various surveillance videos. You appeared so relieved and hopeful. Two infuriating faces of youth and hope. I thought I could give you a couple of weeks to play your silly games. But, once you were really gone, Erik lost his mind. He was ready to die. And to take many others with him."

"I'm sorry I—"

"No. No, you are not. If not for my interference, you and that boy would be on the other side of the world."

She frowned. "Erik, I gave you a chance to tell me the truth about what was happening. I questioned you."

"You would have fled from the truth faster than my little lies."

"That's because it's wrong! But if you stop this, I won't put you through any more pain. I've been lonely before, you know? When my father died, the Spirit was the only thing I had left. You were the only person I could talk to." He was silent. She squeezed his arm. "So tell me about the final event."

He sighed. "Cameron is going to make a speech tomorrow after those earlier events, in the evening. It will be in front of a very large crowd, at least in the tens of thousands. The speech will call for peace and unity, and it will be incredibly uplifting. I would know; I wrote it. And then—then as the crowds cheer for him-multiple explosions will rock the Community."

She gaped in disbelief. "Why would you bomb the Community?"

"The explosions will have all the fingerprints of the federal government." She stared up at him in confusion. "You see, it will look like a desperate attempt by the current administration to defeat Cameron. There will also be smaller explosions at CAC headquarters and other organizations opposed to the current regime. It will ultimately look as though the federal government is attempting to eradicate all its enemies. They will appear as brutal tyrants to the entire world and lose all support. At that point, members of the military…the legislative branch…all of the connections Cameron has nurtured these last months will step in to guard and support him."

"Does Cameron know about this?"

"Of course. He knows he will not be harmed."

"My God. Tomorrow's not going to be casualty free, is it?" she asked, looking down with dismay.

"It cannot be if we want people to despise the current government. And Cameron and his Community will appear to be mere victims. Even if it does not completely collapse the administration, it will push Cameron over the edge to win all elections where his men are running."

"What if not everyone believed it? What if they fought back?"

"Of course some will." Erik shrugged. "If too many did, then it would become a sort of civil war. We are prepared for that. Other countries experience it all the time."

Her hand dropped from his arm and fell into her lap. She couldn't look at him or touch him. It was too horrible. It made her sick.

With a gloved hand, he gently touched her cheek so that she would face him again. "See? You will hate me, won't you? That is why I did not wish to tell you."

"I think I might," she murmured, trying to look away again. "I think I would have to."

"It was… all so much easier before you. I cared about nothing save for myself." He ran his fingers through her hair. "So much easier…."

"Was it better before me?"

"No. You were the first good in my life since Farrokh."

"Farrokh," she repeated and squinted. "Is that Dr. Nabavi?"

"Yes. Farrokh Nabavi," he murmured absentmindedly. The name struck some chord of familiarity in her mind. She couldn't remember any specifics, though. "I…told Cameron that we may depart soon," he softly continued. "Because you are not happy here. You do not want my gift."

She glanced up in surprise. "But why even go through with it if you're not staying?"

"Five years-"

"All for nothing," she finished sadly.

"No. Not for nothing." He stared intensely at her.

"Then don't do this. Don't do this. Free Raoul and—"

"Always back to him, my love?" Erik stood. "Yes. Of course. Always him." He shrugged, his eyes dull and defeated. "Goodnight, my love. Sleep well."

The day had passed far too quickly.

She went to bed utterly terrified and of course never slept. Christine merely lay there, knowing that it was coming-knowing that she hadn't won yet. The next morning, she could only eat two grapes and a bite of yogurt before feeling ill. She looked at him but didn't know what to say. Everything had already been said.

"Will you sing this morning?" he asked. The somber tone of his voice signified that he was well-aware of how critical these last hours were.

"Yes," she whispered. She did her best but could barely concentrate. Erik never corrected her. In fact, he mostly kept his eyes closed. Sometimes he would murmur something that she couldn't understand.

Christine supposed that the ultimate flaw in her plan was that Erik believed all her acts of kindness to be only manipulative bargains. He still believed he had nothing unless he was in a position of power. Maybe the bargains had not been the right way to go as they had tainted all of her actions. But really—what other choice was there? She'd been put into an impossible situation from the beginning.

The afternoon arrived. By the way he quietly slipped on his gloves and began to collect folders, avoiding her at the same time, Christine knew he was preparing to go out. It was probably time for the first explosions. Was this it? It had to be.

"Erik." She stood there with her arms straight at her sides and her chin held high. "I want to go with you."

"What?! No," he rasped and quickly backed away from her.

"I have to."

"It is too—"

"Dangerous?" she wryly asked. "The only thing that makes today dangerous is you."

"You cannot come."

"I want to know what's happening to those girls. Before you make any decision, can't we see that? Can't we go there together and find out?"

He hesitated. "I will find out for you."

"No. You have to let me go. I won't see the terror on television if I go, right? Isn't that better?"

"I—You cannot come."

"Erik, I'll go insane if you leave me here by myself. I will lose my mind, and you will have an empty shell for a wife. Maybe even a dead one." Overdramatic but hopefully effective.

"You will not." Still, his eyes grew fearful. "The cat—You will stay sane and alive for it."

"I don't care. You can't threaten me with that anymore. I'm done being threatened. I want to go with you. Let's see what's happening to the girls. Together."

There was far too much turmoil in his eyes for her to trust him to do the right thing. Too much conflict and rage and pain. He really didn't know what to do; she could see that. For at least twenty years, Erik had worked toward this revenge, not just against the country, but against mankind itself. Each person who had wronged him had added another brick of hatred. She had spent mere weeks trying to break him down and reassemble him. And a human being, especially such a damaged human being, cannot change overnight. Not over days. And not even over weeks or probably months. Maybe she should have been relieved that he was at least faltering.

No, she had not failed. Not at all. She just had to hold on a little longer. And know she had done her very best.

"I want to go to the Community and find out what's happening to those girls. I want you to know, too. And then—if you still decide to do it, we'll watch together. What are you trying to hide? I know everything now. Pretending that is all some happy transition to a great new world—those days are all gone, Erik. You can't hide from me anymore. That mask doesn't hide _anything._"

He stared down at her, trembling. "But you will…."

_Stop me. _She finished the sentence in her head. _Yes, I think I might. _

"Erik. Am I your wife or your prisoner?"

She held her breath.

* * *

Raoul quickly lost track as to how long he was imprisoned. At least two or three weeks. Maybe even four. Outside of a single instance when he had been blindfolded and brought outside for no reason that he could understand, he'd been locked in that cell. A small, dank bathroom was connected to it and contained a sink and a shower that dripped constantly. The sound would become almost maddening in the silence. He was fed twice a day, usually some heated microwave dinner that tasted like salted cardboard. At the beginning, Raoul would sometimes yell at whomever might be listening, offer to pay them millions of dollars if they'd help him. But no one ever came. He was alone.

The sound of Christine's voice on that single day gave him a few minutes of happiness. She was alive, and she hadn't sounded injured. There was that. Still, Raoul had cringed when the monster called her his wife. What did that entail? Raoul tried not to think about that. Otherwise, he might really lose his mind….

In the long, pointless hours, he often thought of the past. He thought of his family, of growing up with a highly political father and a brother who wanted to follow in those commanding footsteps. Both had tried so damned hard to make the world a better place. And Raoul watched over and over again as it never worked. His father was dead, Phillip was probably dead, and Raoul wasn't doing much better.

_And here I tried to stay out of it…._

Still, he didn't regret his choices. Raoul had tried to save her until the very last, horrific minute. Maybe he'd at least given Christine a few happy memories to hold onto. He had those—running around the shining streets of Canada on their silly dates and holding her at night as he tried to make her fears go away.

If he had to do it all over again, the only change Raoul would make was returning to the US at all. Phillip was probably doomed no matter what. He and Christine should have taken the next flight to Siberia and hid out there for a couple of years. Instead, Raoul had fallen right into the monster's hands. He had allowed Christine to be a human sacrifice.

Raoul heard loud, echoing footsteps outside his prison door and sat up rapidly. Four men with black handkerchiefs over their faces entered, dressed in the same color from head to boot. All held handguns. All stared down at him with cool indifference. "We're going out," said one in a gruff, muffled voice. "You struggle and you get a bullet in your head, got it?"

Raoul glared but made no move to fight them. Again, he was blindfolded. His hands were tied tightly behind his back, and he was roughly led forward. He could feel the cool breeze brush against his skin as he was taken outside and felt some relief as the fresh air hit his face, even though it smelled of rotten eggs and pollution. He wondered how much further the world had deteriorated. Did Cameron control everything now?

Raoul's head was pushed down as he was forced into a vehicle. He sensed others near him, but they said nothing outside of, "Let's get out of here." The drive was long and bumpy. Raoul's heart pounded as he wondered where they were taking him. At some point, the air in the vehicle began to smell fresher…greener. It triggered a memory. _The Community._

When the vehicle finally stopped, Raoul was yanked out of it by the elbow and led forward. Yes, he could sense that they were most likely at the Community simply by the scents and soft rustling of vegetation. He heard distant voices, some rough and some more pleasant. Men, women, and children. The lack of light through the blindfold made him think that he was being kept in the shadows.

Then they stopped.

And he heard a voice that made his heart sink.

"There you are," said Cameron. "I'm very relieved to have you back here, Chagny."

"Where is she?" Raoul angrily asked.

"She? Always back to her, isn't it?" Cameron sounded annoyed. "I wish I could make her go away. Maybe someday…."

"You—" Raoul flinched at him but was held back.

"It's too bad you never came around to my side, Chagny. But your kind's sinful ways will eventually be eradicated. All those liberal pieces of legislation your father passed just inched this country closer to Hell! And I'm here to bring it back from the brink, my boy." He chuckled. "See you tonight. Maybe."

Raoul was released. A metal door slammed. He could still hear the outdoors, birds twittering and the wind whistling. He could also hear voices discussing how to set up a stage and electronics and wires. They were clearly getting ready for…something. Something big.

More voices arrived, growing louder and louder with every passing minute. Hundreds or thousands of people were assembling.

His heart beat faster and faster. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and dripped into the blindfold.

He was going to die tonight. He knew it.

Raoul ached for his mother. His poor mother would probably lose two sons along with her husband. He desperately hoped that Caroline and Meg would keep her company, would find a way to escape.

He deeply hurt for Christine, knowing that she must be going through horror as well. At least she was alive. For now. _I'm sorry, Chris. I tried so hard…._

With a soft sigh of resignation, Raoul slumped down onto the cold concrete floor and waited for death.


	31. Chapter 31

Thanks to those who left feedback. I hope you find this chapter exciting.

Warning—this chapter has a disturbing element. Not of a sexual nature but still unsettling.

**Read and Review!**

Cameron Lourdes looked into the nearest mirror and straightened his tie. He smiled widely and checked his teeth for any stray particles. He pulled out a small stack of notecards from his pocket and reviewed his speech. Of course, he wouldn't look down at them during the actual event. Speaking was his forte. And Erik had done a beautiful job with crafting the words.

As Cameron prepared, he also listened to the radio and continued to be disappointed. Remembering the details of Erik's original plan, he was certain that there was supposed to be at least one event earlier in the day—before the main happening that night. In fact, the speech didn't even make much sense without the earlier event. Hm.

They were also supposed to meet beforehand. If Erik didn't show up, it would indeed cause Cameron to panic.

He hoped his dinner party had convinced Erik to stay for the long-term. Next to Cameron, Erik would be the most powerful man in the region. Who could pass up such a gift? Cameron prayed his little threat to that stupid girl didn't mess up anything. It had been a bit rash and unplanned, but he was unable to resist. His hatred for her burned like the Devil's fire. He would need to purge himself of those feelings before they made him do something unholy.

Yes, tonight would begin a great cleansing of all things evil.

Erik walked into his office on time. Cameron smiled in relief. Yes, all would go as planned.

"Erik. It is the night," he said, turning around. "I am so excited that I can barely breathe, you know?" The masked man nodded once. Cameron attempted to read the yellow eyes but failed. "I trust there were no earlier incidents only because you are still simplifying things? That's…why?" Another nod. Cameron grew a little more nervous in the silence. "Very good." He quickly went through their plan to make sure everything was clear, ending with, "After the event occurs, I should stay on stage and cry out for peace and calm. Meanwhile, the younger Chagny can be discreetly planted near an explosion sight. I still say the angry crowd might kill him before I can intervene, but at least our hands will be clean. Maybe it's better that way. Less paperwork, if you get my meaning." A pause. "And the elder?"

Finally, Erik spoke. His voice was a little hoarser than Cameron was accustomed to. "He is too drugged for theatrics. After tonight, we can decide whether he is more use to us dead or alive."

"Yes, maybe he can be _persuaded_, so to speak, to give us information about those who work against us." Cameron nodded. "Very good. Is there anything else I should know, Erik?"

"No. All shall go as discussed."

"When should I plan to meet with you again?"

"Let us meet here at midnight. It will all be over by then."

Cameron closed his eyes and inhaled.

Victory was so very close.

* * *

Erik had stared down at her for a very long time. While Christine tried to appear brave, inwardly she was panicking. And it was not just over Raoul and the rest of the country. Her feelings ran much deeper than that. No matter what Erik thought, she did care about him. She did. And while she was still confused as to what she believed on a cosmic scale, Christine had the feeling that Erik's soul and humanity were hanging by a thread. If he went through with this, she didn't think he could ever be brought back. And that was devastating. She didn't think she'd recover from any of it.

"You are not my prisoner," he murmured. "I never wanted…that."

"Then let me go with you. I have to know. You should know."

"What makes you think I will care?" he coldly asked, although she still heard a tremble in his voice.

"Maybe you won't. Maybe you won't care about them or the lives you're going to take tonight. Or anything except revenge—"

"And you," he whispered.

She said nothing to this. "But you should still know. Let's see what's happening in our new _kingdom._"

He gave an aggravated sigh. "Come, my wife. Wear sturdy shoes, for we will be walking long distances. And you had better listen to every word I say. This is not without danger, do you understand?"

Her heart jumped in relief. Had this really just happened? "Yes, Erik! Thank you! Should I dress in Community clothes?"

"No. No one will see you. I had promised Cameron you would not be there tonight."

She rapidly ran off to grab her best tennis shoes. She raced back to the living area to put them on, not wanting Erik to sneak away in her absence. But he didn't even try to do so, standing there stiffly and rubbing his temples.

"Where are we going?" she asked as they walked outside through the theater entrance. No car was waiting, and they were heading in an unusual direction.

"You will see." They strolled a long way through the field, the same path she had taken to escape, and then through several alleys once they reached the city. Finally, they stopped near a small and abandoned brick garage. The entrances were all locked, but Erik pressed a handheld device and uttered a sequence of numbers. One of the garage doors rolled up with a deep rumble. A two-door sleek black car sat there, obviously driverless. The windows were heavily tinted; the color caused it to practically blend in with the darkness. The doors unlocked, and Erik climbed into the driver's seat. "We have no allies in your little mission," he warily explained. "No one can know you come with me today. We must go alone."

She climbed into the passenger's side and stared down at what had to be very expensive black leather seats. The dashboard was lit up with various navigating devices and other lights and symbols she didn't understand. His driving was like the rest of his movements as he backed out and headed through the empty streets, fast and smooth. It was all a little surreal. "Why don't you always drive?" she asked.

"I told you, it is better for me to have my attention on other matters at all times. Let someone else do this mundane task."

"I think it'd be fun to learn."

Erik softly laughed. "I am sure that could be arranged." He spoke again. But not to her. "Override event set for today at 3:47 PM."

"Cancel event set for today at 3:47 PM?" asked an automated female's voice.

"Yes."

"Event cancelled. Next event is at 6:43. In five parts with five second spacing." Christine closed her eyes and breathed in deeply.

"I would have cancelled it even without your presence," Erik muttered.

For whatever it was worth, she believed him. "Are you going to cancel the last?" He didn't answer her, only gripped the wheel more tightly. "Where are we going?"

"Exactly where you wished. Cameron's compound. I am supposed to meet with him beforehand, and I will do this so he does not become suspicious. It is really the perfect night for spying. All citizens will be in the stadium to listen to his speech, and the streets will have a lower security presence than normal. As will the compound. We will find your answer, as you requested, my wife."

She was quiet throughout the ride, side-glancing Erik every so often. His body was rigid, and his eyes were disturbed. The world passed as it always did. The dirty, impoverished cities. The abandoned towns. The people on the sides of the highways with strange signs. Grassy fields and trees with brown leaves still dangling from the branches. And finally Cameron's deceptively bright and shiny Community.

"Climb into the back and stay down," Erik ordered so harshly that she jumped. Christine quickly obeyed. Without rolling the window down, Erik somehow spoke to someone, maybe the security person at the front gate. "It is me. You will let me pass without interference." It must have worked because Erik drove through without stopping. Their surroundings darkened, and she knew that they had entered the garage area connected to Cameron's compound. Her breath and heart were audible in her ears. Yet, for the first time, she nearly felt that Erik was her ally. She felt safe with him.

He parked in the darkness and turned to look at her. "You will stay here while I speak to Cameron. No one can see inside. The doors are locked, but I will be alerted if they open. That means I will also be aware if you make any inane attempt to escape, do you understand?"

"Yes." Did Erik really think she'd run off into the Community all by herself? Besides, she would never abandon him in these moments, not when she had her first taste of real hope in weeks. She huddled there in the silence after he left, hoping that nothing went wrong. It would be terrifying if hours passed and he never returned. What would she think? That he'd decided to go through with it? That Cameron had discovered their intentions and had Erik killed?

Christine exhaled in relief when Erik finally opened the door on the driver's side. He said nothing to her as he climbed back inside and closed the door. "Did you speak to him?" she asked.

"Yes."

"What did you say?"

"That all would proceed as planned." He stared forward. "He suspects nothing."

"That's good…."

"We will need to wait here for some time. It is best to have as few people on the streets as possible." She slowly took his hand and squeezed it. Her sleepless night came back to haunt her, and she yawned. "You may sleep, if you like," he murmured. "We have some time."

While she didn't think she could sleep, Christine closed her eyes. She felt him withdraw his hand and figured he was uncomfortable. After about thirty minutes, she opened her lids, too nervous to slumber. Erik's arms were crossed over the steering wheel, and his face was buried in them. "Erik? What's wrong?" He didn't answer. She swallowed nervously. "Are you…upset because all of this might not happen?"

It took him several seconds to speak. "No. I do not care. The day has arrived; I thought I would care. But I do not. I care about only one thing in the entire world."

She rested a hand on his shoulder. He flinched. "I care about you, too."

"But you are only here because I have…forced you to be."

"Well…." It wasn't really a conversation she wanted to have right now. Christine simply wanted him to get through the day with his humanity intact. The rest—that could be discussed later.

"It is the truth."

She shakily sighed. "My…life has never been all that normal, Erik. Not since I was a little kid. I was threatened with Hell for most of my teen years. And then all this over the last few months. It'd be nice to wake up and not be afraid of something."

"I do not want you to be afraid."

"You're helping to fix that right now," she encouraged. "Erik, let's get through this. And, once we do, I promise everything will be okay."

He glanced at the clock. "I have overridden all the security systems. We will be undetected."

She nodded. "Let's start with Lauren's house." She wryly smiled. "I'm sure you know where that is?"

"Of course. A fifteen minute walk. We will draw too much attention in the vehicle."

"Will someone see us?"

"No. I have learned how to move about without notice. You think I would help build this place without hidden access?"

"You built it?" she asked with a swallow.

"Not the original foundation and structures. That was Cameron's doing. I simply added to it so that the Spirit could be omnipresent. I have…put more effort into this project than any other one in my entire life. It is a rather horrific masterpiece, no?"

"Erik, someday you're going to do something really, really good. And I'll be there to see it."

"It is time to go," was all he said.

As he led them forward, Christine was shocked by the intricacies of the path. They went through several dim and winding hallways connected to the garage and emerged in a room toward the front of the compound. She blinked in surprise; it was their old, surreal room where she'd come for her voice lessons. The memories of those days chilled her, all she hadn't known at that time.

Erik fondly glanced at it as well. "The most secure room in the Community. When the doors close, unless I personally change the security access with my fingerprint, they are impenetrable from the Outside. I would never allow someone to interrupt our lessons."

To her surprise, Erik pulled back a square patch of blue carpet and revealed a door engraved into the floors. He opened it, and they descended down a set of concrete stairs and into the darkness. For several seconds, they walked through a cement underground tunnel. Erik held a device that provided just enough light for them to get by. Then they went back upstairs and passed through cramped spaces behind Community homes and buildings. Then back underground for a bit. Twice, they even passed through actual homes. She gaped as they saw a bearded older man putting on pants through a strange glass wall.

Erik snorted. "Cameron had me keep an especially close eye on those closest to him. His is highly paranoid."

"Do you think he keeps an eye on you?" she asked with slight worry.

"Oh, he would absolutely love to do so. If he could."

Cool air brushed against her skin throughout the journey, sending goose bumps up and down her arms. If it weren't for the terrible circumstances, Christine might have found a little thrill in this mission-sneaking around with Erik through back passages and little tunnels. Finally, he said, "This is the closest exit to the home. I will go first. Stay behind me and remain quiet."

They emerged near several small blue duplexes with perfectly trimmed yards and dying gardens. The late afternoon autumn sun cast shadows that concealed them if they remained near the foundations of the buildings. Before she could ask how this would work, Erik pointed a device that looked like a remote control with a computer screen at one of the homes. A high-pitch beep sounded into the air, and then he stared down. "What is that?" she asked.

"It detects and analyzes warm bodies. There are two adults and a young male inside. No younger female."

"But this is her home?"

"It is. And it is odd that they are not attending Cameron's speech. Perhaps they are unhappy with him?" He paused. "I could obtain an answer through hypnosis perhaps. If they even know." Christine nodded and remained concealed as Erik neared the front door. He seemed to be in deep concentration as he knocked twice and then came back to her side behind the duplex.

A little freckled brunet boy of about twelve opened the front door, blankly staring forward. "H-hello?" he shakily asked. His green eyes blinked nervously.

"Good evening," Erik said in such a soothing voice that Christine was nearly hypnotized as well. "You will answer my questions. And then you will forget this conversation." The boy said nothing, continuing to stare outward. "Now where is your sister? Lauren?"

"L-Lauren? She was bad," the boy whispered. "She's where the bad girls are now. An example. Lauren is an example." Even in this state, the boy seemed sad about it.

"Where is she precisely?"

"The medical center."

"On what floor and in what room?"

"The top floor," the boy murmured. "She's an example. She was bad."

"What room?" There was no answer; maybe the boy didn't know this. Erik hesitated. "And what has happened to her?"

"She is an example. She was bad."

"You may go inside now," said Erik with slight exasperation. "Sleep now. Tell your parents that a bird flew into the door."

"Bird?"

"Yes. But it survived and departed."

The boy returned inside, and the door softly closed behind him. Christine shuddered. "Do you know where the medical center is?" she asked. "I don't remember it. When Dad or I got sick here, someone always came to the house."

"Yes. It is a new structure that I did not design. I had assumed Cameron needed a bigger facility and more resources for the growing population and did not think much of it. As I said, you have occupied my time. I have not been paying attention as I should have." Erik took a glance around them. "Let us get this done. The streets are nearly clear." They headed back into the passage behind the buildings, and she quickly allowed him to take the lead.

"When is Cameron's speech?" she asked.

"Thirty minutes."

"And when are…were…are…the explosions going to happen?"

"An hour," he whispered. "Let us concentrate on this for now." They soon approached a stoic brick building that contained at least eight stories. It was simple, yet there was something sinister about it. Something cold and soulless. Too nervous to think straight, Christine started to head for the front glass doors. Erik harshly spoke, "Do not be ridiculous. You think they will let you march up there?"

"Then how do we get in?"

"The back, of course. But you will have to be very silent. Sometimes your footsteps are like that of stampeding elephants." She glared. "But I love you for it," he said affectionately.

Erik easily manipulated a lock, and they entered through the back. It was cold inside—far too cold for comfort. They ascended an empty stairwell. She tried to walk quietly on the white tiles, but her footsteps echoed. "Sorry," she murmured. He just made an amused noise. Someone came by, a nurse of some type, and they momentarily ducked to the side. "What if someone does see?" she asked.

He shrugged. "They can be neutralized." He probably saw her expression. "Temporarily and without pain."

The top floor was eerily quiet. There were no nurses or other employees around. An empty metal desk and metal chair sat in the middle of the room beneath a single, dim fluorescent light. Several grey file cabinets were beside it, all closed and probably locked. Surrounding the desk on all sides were seven white closed doors with silver knobs. It was isolated and dark and…creepy. Christine's heart pounded wildly. "Which way?" she asked. "We don't have to find Lauren. Just…anyone."

"I am not sure it matters." His tone sent a shiver down her spine. She started to head for the nearest door. Erik grabbed her shoulder. "Christine. I could look for you. I will not lie as to what I discover."

He knew it was bad. They both knew it was bad.

"Erik, I've been through a lot," she whispered. "I'm tired of hiding from things." She paused and looked down. "But I hope you'll agree, no matter what you decide to do, that this, whatever it is, has to stop."

"Yes. Of course. We will stop this." His voice was unusually weak. Erik manipulated another lock and slowly stepped into the room. A silence passed. Then he said, "The girl is asleep. We will be quick."

Christine's stomach turned rapidly as she entered. It looked like a strange combination between a hospital room and a hotel room. There were bandages and silver scissors and a green bottle of pills sitting upon a wooden nightstand, but there was no modern medical equipment. The walls were painted white, and the single window was concealed by grey blinds. Slowly, Christine released her breath as she stared down at a sleeping dark-haired girl who was probably only a little younger than she was. "I don't understand," she whispered. "She looks okay."

Erik tilted his head and studied the girl. "Either they have done something to her mind, or—" With a sigh, he lifted the white sheets and ugly brown blanket.

Christine stepped back with a gasp of horror.

A foot was clearly missing, chopped off directly above the ankle. White gauze hid the carnage.

"No," she softly choked, stepping backward again and covering her hand with her mouth. Yet she'd known it would be something like this. Cameron's punishment for her taken out on these poor girls. A missing foot—the perfect penalty for running away. "No, no, no."

"Christine," Erik whispered, touching her shoulders. "It is—"

"No!" She ran out and started to grab the knob of the door to the next room, labeled Room 1, needing to know whether every area held the same sort of horror. Erik grabbed her and held her in place.

"Christine," he said in a soothing voice. "Let me look first. Let Erik look for you this time. I will not lie to you. We cannot afford to have you break down here, do you understand? Someone will hear."

With a shaky sigh, she nodded and stepped back. She was on the verge of a panic attack and knew this would be a very dangerous place to have one. After touching the side of her cheek, Erik entered and closed the door halfway behind him.

First, there was a silence. And then Christine heard a very strange and heartbreaking conversation take place.

"Is someone there?" asked a younger female's voice. "I feel someone. Please. Is someone there?"

Silence.

"I know someone is there!" she continued. "I feel you. Please speak. I'm scared! Please say something!"

Another silence. And then, "Yes, child. It is the Spirit."

"That voice!" she cried with pained delight. "You are the Spirit!? Please say something else," she begged. "Please. Please don't leave. Please. Are you there, Spirit? I still feel you."

"I am here, child."

"Your voice is like heaven. Oh, Spirit, I'm sorry I wasn't good. I'm so sorry. Please say you'll forgive me. I'll be good now. I'll be a good example."

Erik weakly whispered, "You are forgiven, child."

"I'll go to heaven?"

"Of course. All is forgiven."

The girl hesitated. "Will you take me there now? Take me to heaven?" A sob escaped her throat. "I don't want to be here anymore. I want to go to heaven with you, Spirit! Please!"

"It is not time yet, my dear," Erik replied, a crack in his voice. "It is not time to go to heaven."

"No, please. Please don't make me be here anymore!" she begged. "Please take me with you!"

"I cannot," he whispered. "I cannot do that now. But you will be fine. You will. Goodnight, child. Goodnight."

When Erik emerged and shut the door behind him, Christine saw something in his eyes that she had never seen before that moment. Disgust—not toward the girl but toward all of this. _Regret._ The girl's sobs were still audible from inside.

"What-?" Christine couldn't even force the question out.

Erik inhaled before softly answering, "Her eyes had been removed."

Hugging her arms to her chest, Christine began to cry. She felt Erik pulling her forward by the shoulder and allowed him to have control. "You must be quiet," he said. "You must. Or they will find us."

Somehow she was able to make her sobs less audible. He led her down the stairs and out the back door, through tunnels and passages that blurred before her teary eyes. She was still too shocked to do anything but be compliant, unable to think or comprehend what was happening. Christine stumbled once underground, but Erik caught her and steadied her. Finally, when they were suddenly in the practice room again, she felt some lucidity. Christine stopped walking and was jerked forward as he continued toward the exit. Erik paused and looked down at her.

"What are we doing?" she whispered, tasting the salt of tears in her mouth. "Where are we going?"

"Leaving," he replied. "We are leaving. And you will never come back here. Nor will I."

"What do you mean? What will happen?"

"There will be no final event. Cameron will give the speech, and nothing will occur. He will not have my services any longer. Tomorrow, we will leave the country. The day that I was gone for so long-I was preparing to go. I knew, even if I would not admit it to myself, well-this is no place for you. I will take you somewhere sane."

Christine rapidly nodded as his words warmly washed over her. He was done. He was really, really done. "Thank you," she managed to choke out. He started to turn away. Suddenly, though, she remembered Cameron's threat. "Erik, he'll hurt them out of revenge," she whispered in a panic. "The other women! He'll hurt them because you went away, and he'll blame that on me!"

"He will not last long without my help," Erik replied. "He may do well this election cycle, but…the country will improve without my interference. The economy will improve, and people will thrive outside the Community again. Cameron will fade. Do you understand?" She nodded but continued to wipe tears away. "This is what you wanted, no?" he angrily asked. "To leave? Did you not promise to Erik that he just had to stop the events and take you away from here—and all would be fine? Did not you say that multiple times, my dear?"

"Yes, Erik. I'm incredibly grateful. It is what I wanted. I want to leave."

"We will now." He turned back to the exit once more and started to pull her forward.

Desperately, she tried to think. Everything was happening so fast that she could barely get her mind to work, especially as visions of those tortured girls continued to haunt her. "What about Ra-?"

"Cease speaking of him!" Erik roared madly, turning to face her so quickly that she jumped backward. He released her hand. "I am doing as you asked! We will leave together as husband and wife! I am doing as you asked!"

"I know. I know. I'm sorry. Please. Please just give me a second to—"

"I am not doing it! I am not doing it!" he exclaimed. "I am not doing it…."

"Erik, what are you talking about?" she whispered.

"I will not do it!"

"Do what? I-Oh…." Dizzy, Christine slowly sunk down to her knees. It was all too much. Relief and shock that Erik was leaving this all behind him. Terror at the thought of all those people who were probably going to suffer in their absence. And where was Raoul? But maybe she had done all she could. Maybe this was the biggest victory she could have hoped for. These thoughts spun in confusing loops throughout her head. She realized that Erik was still speaking frantically above her. They had both nearly lost their minds, it seemed. Finally, his words became clear through the fog.

"It will never be good enough!" he rasped, leaning down over her and waving his arms at her frantically. "I will never be good enough, will I? What do you want of me? What? I love you, but you will never love me. No matter what I do! What do you want of me?!"

"Erik. Erik," she whispered. "I'm just trying to—"

"I only want you!" he exclaimed. "Erik just wants you. Nothing else. Not the world. Not the country. That is why he is leaving. All for you! To make you happy. Please be happy!"

She placed a hand to her forehead. Maybe she was asking too much-for all of this mess to be fixed in a single night. Christine closed her eyes as the tears continued to fall. Erik was right; Cameron wouldn't last long without the Spirit. A couple of years at worst. Maybe this was the most poor Erik could do for now.

"Why will you not be happy? Please. Please love me."

She concentrated only on him now. From his voice, she could tell that he was crying as well. On wobbly legs, Christine attempted to stand back up. "Erik. Erik, come here. It's all right," she whispered. "It's all right. It's enough."

"It is not! It is not! I tried to give you the world. But you did not want that. Now I will leave for you. I will do anything for you."

"I know. I know. Thank you."

"But you do not want me. You do not want me. No one wants me!"

"Erik." She wrapped her arms around him, gently. "Erik, _I_ want you. I do. I want you. It's good enough. Okay? We're fine. It's going to be fine. I promise."

A sob came from behind the mask. Slowly, they sank down to their knees together, falling onto the soft carpet with a thud. The room was silent and dark, and she remained there for several moments with her arms wrapped around his neck and her cheek pressed against his shoulder, embracing his shaking body. Her fingers found the tiny strings to the mask around the back of his head. He flinched. "I want to see you. Please let me see you." He was too defeated and weak to stop her. She untied them.

With her left hand, Christine removed the mask and stared at him, at the tear-stained skeleton face. He just stared back as though she might strike him. She smiled, her left hand dropping to the side. With her right hand on the back of his head, she gently kissed his tattered left cheek. And then his other cheek. Then the center of his forehead. And finally she pressed a kiss to his thin, pale mouth. He moaned but made no move to respond. He was motionless, just watching her with the yellow eyes buried in their deep sockets. "I want you," she said.

And she meant this in that moment. It was rather the most brilliant, bright sight she had ever seen in her twenty years—a work of art-watching the glow of humanity return to those cold, indifferent eyes. She could nearly feel it warm her from the inside out, radiating from her heart and making her skin tingle. And what she _wanted_ was to see the rest of what had to be there—what he was truly capable of if working for good instead of bad. He was probably the most brilliant man in the entire world. It was like finding a gold coin and needing to see what other treasures were buried beneath the layers of darkness.

She held him as he wept, his bare face buried deeply in her shoulder. "I love you," she heard him say over and over. "I love you."

"We'll be okay," she reassured him. But, suddenly, he was very still. He raised his head and looked at her. She smiled although the guilt on his face disturbed her. "We'll be fine," she said again.

"No," he whispered.

"Yes. Erik, you've made it impossible for Cameron to continue if we leave tonight. You have. He needs you to survive." She kissed him again on the corner of his mouth.

"The boy," he murmured. "The boy."

"What about him?' she shakily asked, drawing back a little. "Can't you just let him go? I can tell him what's happened. Maybe the Chagnys can take down Cameron quickly. I bet they can."

Slowly, Erik stood. She rose to her feet as well, increasingly unnerved. "You see. He is….He knew far too much. And he would never stop pursuing you. Never. I knew this."

Her heart dropped. "Erik, is he-" Christine couldn't even say the word.

Erik seemed to be checking the time on one of his devices. "The event will not happen, so all we be thrown off."

"What are you saying?" she asked, the volume of her voice rising.

"He is with—"

"With Cameron?" Erik's silence was her answer. "_Why?_" she asked in horror.

"There-there is not time to explain. Except I promised you I would not kill him. Erik keeps promises. In a way. So it became prudent to make sure he would be locked away forever. But I cannot explain this now. Not if you want him to live. When Cameron discovers that there will be no…event, he will-it will not be good for Mr. Chagny."

"Oh, God…." She moaned in sadness, placing a hand over her mouth.

Erik quickly reached down and grabbed his mask, quickly tying it back onto his face. His hand touched her chin. "I will fix it. I will fix all of it. I realize how. I never want you to cry again. And, Christine," he whispered. "I promise there is time. I can fix all of it. But I must go now, if he is to live. If it is all to end."

She stared at him as another cold realization began to unfold in her mind. "What are you going to do?"

He reached into his pocket and handed one of the electrical weapons to her. "Take this. As I said, this room is the most secure in the Community. No one can enter from outside, and so you will not need this. But I will not leave you unarmed in this world. Now listen, my…Christine. Do not leave this room; you are safe here, do you understand? It may take some time, but the boy will find you. You will hear him. Let him in, and, when the authorities arrive, you will go somewhere safe. Simply be safe. And, in months, it will all be right again. Because everyone will _know._"

"Know what?" She grabbed his arm as his words began to make sense. "Tell me what you're doing!"

"I love you," he said. "At least remember that once the media begins its storm. I love you. You are the only one who made my existence worth anything. Now stay _here._" He released himself from her grasp. "Stay here and live." He left the room, and the door closed softly behind him.

She would not let it end like this.

"Erik?!" She opened the door and called after him, "Erik!" He was already halfway down the hall, nearly gone. But not gone yet; she wasn't too late.

"Are you mad? Someone will hear you!" he snapped, his voice still hoarse. He walked back toward her in several quick strides. "Are you absolutely mad?! Have I finally driven you insane?"

"Please." Her voice shook. "Please just save Raoul and come back. Don't go off and, well—twenty is really too young to be a widow, isn't it?" She sniffled and wiped her eyes. "Save his life and come back. We'll figure out the rest later. Promise me, or I won't stay in this stupid room. That's-that's my last bargain. Come back and…live."

"Are you m-?" He sighed but betrayed no other emotion. "I promise," he said after a hesitation. Taking her by the shoulder, he guided her back inside. "Now stay here. Get back in that room and stay there, you foolish girl." Erik closed the door, and the impenetrable locked clicked into place. She wasn't sure if she believed him.

Christine slid down against the wall and to the carpet, breathing heavily in the silence. Several minutes later, she heard footsteps near the door-loud and unfamiliar footsteps that were not Erik's nor Raoul's. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping no one had heard her earlier outburst. The door jiggled but remained firmly locked. She was safe. Safe and rather miserable.

A silence passed. Maybe the person was gone. She took a shuddery breath. The wait was agonizing. What if they both died tonight? _Then she'd probably die too…._

Her crushing thoughts were interrupted by a child's high-pitched, agonized scream.

And then the threats began.

It seemed that yet another girl was about to be punished in her place.


	32. Chapter 32

Thank you all so much! We've reached the main climax. And one of you was diabolical enough to guess what Cameron would like to do to Christine. Nice job, Mooglez. Do warn us if you ever have any plans to take over the country. J/K ;)

Enjoy!

**Read and Review!**

Christine clutched the sides of her head and stared at the floor, praying that someone would come to the rescue before this horrific decision had to be made. Yet she knew that wasn't going to happen.

"No! Ouch! Ah! No! It hurts! _No! Help!_" The little girl continued to cry out, her voice hoarse from tears. "Help me! Help me!"

"I know you're in there! And I'll rip her arm off if you don't get out here! Do you understand? I am this close."

She could stay in that room and _live—_and listen to a child be tortured to death. Or she could leave and stop the torment…and maybe die.

"No! Help me!"

"_I remained hidden away for a very long time, under the tutelage of the only man in the country worth anything. In fact, his main flaw was the same as yours, you know?" _

_"And what is that, Erik?"_

_"Too much compassion." _

The girl released an earth-shattering scream.

Christine squeezed her eyes shut. _Please God help me._ _Surely you're not really on Cameron's side._

With a sigh of despair, she stood onto shaking legs and made her way to the door. Gripping Erik's weapon, she held it outward with one hand and twisted the cold knob with the other. She looked out. One of Cameron's guards, a short and heavyset man with beady eyes, had Abby's arm twisted behind her back so tightly that the limb looked like it was about to snap in half. The little girl's face was scrunched up in pain as she tried to sink to her knees and escape.

"Stop it!" Christine shouted. "You monster! I'm out now! Leave her alone!" She tried to aim the weapon upward at the man's head to avoid hitting Abby. Just as she was about to order it to fire, large hands clamped down roughly on her shoulders from behind. A chill raced through her body. _Why hadn't she looked behind her? _Maybe it didn't matter. As soon as she'd stepped out of that safe room, she'd signed her life away.

At least she wasn't a coward.

The first man pushed Abby aside where she fell down to her hands and knees on the ground, sobbing and scrambling away. The second man ripped the weapon from her and stared down at it, turning it over in his hands. "What's this?" he asked with a soft southern accent. He pointed it forward and pushed some of the buttons. Nothing happened. He laughed. "You have a fake weapon? _Women._" He tossed the device to the side where it landed on the carpet with a thud.

Thank God the weapon was voice activated. They probably would have tortured her with it.

As the second man held her in place and began to tie her hands behind her back with a rough and scratchy material, the first man spoke into a radio. "It worked," he said. "And she's definitely all alone."

"You found a girl to use?" asked Cameron. His voice was raspy and angry. "Good. I was worried you wouldn't with the assembly happening right now. Excellent. Excellent. Get her to me right now. You'll both be rewarded. Enforcement is on the way."

"Enforcement?" he replied with a snort. "I think the two of us can handle this little gal."

Cameron grunted. "Evil things come in small packages, my friend. I have to go. Get her here. _Now._"

"Done." The first man turned the radio off.

"When he told you to find a girl, I don't think he wanted you to use his granddaughter," said the guard holding her with a chuckle. She still couldn't see him, but Christine could sense that he was taller and stronger.

The first man shrugged. "She was the only one around."

"What if Lourdes finds out?"

"Well, I'm not going to tell. And _you_ won't tell. And, from what I understand, Mrs. Daae here is going to be lucky if she still has a tongue in the morning." Christine shuddered and swallowed, the visions of the others girls coming back to haunt her. Maybe death wasn't even the thing she had to worry about. "And you—" He looked down at a sniffling Abby. "You're not going to tell, are you, sweetheart?" he asked with clear intimidation. Abby shook her head and wiped her eyes. "Good girl." He turned back to Christine. "It's time to go see Cameron. I know you'll be a good girl, too."

The one time she tried to struggle, her arms were jerked back so roughly that she swore she heard them pop in their sockets. Several other men joined them as they arrived at an awaiting black car. Surrounded on all sides with her hands tied painfully tight behind her back, Christine was trapped. The men stared at her with an awful mixture of disdain, curiosity, and desire.

"What's she done?" asked a younger one. "I thought she was our spokeswoman. Yeah. She's that singer."

"Who knows? But Cameron says she's the greatest threat the Community's ever faced…."

They all looked her up and down before laughing heartily.

"What'd you do, sweety?" asked the young one directly to her. "Burn your husband's dinner?"

"I bet she left the iron on too long," said another. "Put a big ol' hole right in the middle of his shirt!"

Christine ignored them as they continued to guffaw. From several, she sensed more ignorance than evil. They had found security and a sense of belonging in the Community, and now they were simply doing their job. And that's what Cameron had built his entire society upon, wasn't it? Ignorance. How ironic that he had used the most intelligent man in the world to do it.

_Erik…where are you? _She willed herself not to cry in front of them-to not be as weak as they thought she was. Her hands shook in her lap.

"_In fact, his main flaw was the same as yours, you know?"_

Suddenly, a memory returned.

_Her father pulled her up onto his warm lap. "Did I ever tell you about your birth, Christine? No? Well, it was one heck of a crazy day. You were early, and your mother and I didn't know what we were doing. Our car broke down in the rain, spun out of control right in the middle of the highway. A very nice man, an angel right from heaven, put us into his car and drove us straight to the hospital. A Farruke' or something like that. Wish I could have sent him a gift basket. He might have saved your life that day."_

She closed her eyes and smiled sadly to herself. Farrokh.

Erik was right. They had been set on paths from the beginning of their lives.

The car arrived at the arena, and her door was opened. A cool gust of air hit her arms and face. In the distance, she could hear Cameron's voice and the cheers of an enormous audience. She was forced out of the vehicle, and she blinked in the bright, artificial light.

Christine stumbled as she was pushed forward. She looked for a stray shadow or a golden orb—any sign of hope. She saw nothing.

And she knew.

No one was coming to save her.

* * *

Throughout Cameron's speech, Raoul's heart began to race as his stomach turned. The cheers of the crowd grew continuously louder and louder until they nearly sounded hysterical in their excitement. It was the same crap. They were the chosen ones during the darkest times. Blah, blah, blah.

Now that Raoul knew the complete truth, it was even more disgusting. _You people have all been duped by the world's sleaziest conman and a cold-blooded monster right out of your nightmares. Good luck with that._

"No matter what happens," said Cameron in a loud voice. "We will have no fear!" The audience roared.

Then something a little strange happened.

Instead of continuing the speech, Cameron paused for a very long moment. Raoul struggled to hear if anything was happening. Outside of a few murmurs from the audience, there was nothing. "All-all right," Cameron finally continued. "All right. I apologize. I was overcome with such…gratitude to the Lord that I lost myself and forgot my lines." The audience softly chuckled and applauded. "I want to thank you all for your—"

As Cameron continued to speak, Raoul noticed a note of aggravation in his voice. The quality of the speech also seemed to decline in those next minutes, as though Cameron hadn't been prepared for it—as though he'd been expecting something to happen. But what? Anything that threw the bastard off had to be good.

Before he could dwell on this for more than a couple of minutes, Raoul suddenly sensed another's presence in the room. Cold air sent goose bumps up and down his arms. An eerie silence followed. Raoul leaned back. So this was it. This was his death. Maybe Cameron was waiting for him on stage right now. A public execution? Was that it? He hoped his mom never saw it….

His shoulder was roughly grabbed by spidery fingers. There was a soft hissing sound, and his hands were suddenly free from their bindings. Raoul flexed his wrists and fingers and then raised his arms in a last attempt to defend himself. The blindfold was ripped off. He blinked as his eyes adjusted. A small front window allowed the bright lights from the outside to filter in. He was staring at a small room, a storage closet that had been turned into his prison. Some electronic equipment and wires were stacked in the corners along with metal folding chairs and tables. Heart hammering, he spun around to see who had just freed him. As his eyes adjusted further, Raoul took another step backward and ran into the concrete wall.

There was the cold-blooded monster, standing well over six feet tall and black from head to toe.

Glaring at the masked figure, he again prepared to die at the hands of the demon. Raoul briefly wondered if Christine was still alive. They stared directly at each other, Cameron's voice distantly echoing in the background.

"Listen to me, and listen well." Erik finally spoke in a soft and even tone that still sent a chill down Raoul's spine. He tossed a black pile upon a nearby table. "Put these on; they will give you the appearance of one of Cameron's guards. As will the…accessory. I gave Christine my spare device, as I am sure you would want, and so you will have to make do with traditional weaponry."

"Wh-what?" Raoul stuttered in disbelief. At least he was receiving a well-planned and elaborate death. "I'm not putting anything on!"

Erik ignored the statement. "Within twenty-five minutes, this entire stadium will be completely distracted. No one should notice you in the slightest, but the clothes are a precaution. Straight back, a hundred yards from here or so, there is a metal shed with a green roof. Inside this building, there is a door in the center of the floor that leads to a set of stairs and a tunnel. The door to the shed will be unlocked. Simply read the code _five six five six_, and the one in the floor will click open. Be discreet and close both doors tightly behind you; they will lock into place. Climb into the tunnel and run straight back without turning. You will arrive at another set of stairs that take you up to another door. Knock. Announce yourself. I am sure she will let _you_ in." There was a soft note of disdain in the last sentence. "Then wait for the authorities. The army. The police. All will eventually arrive, I imagine."

Raoul continued to gape. "Are you serious? You- Is-is this some kind of sick joke?"

"Yes," Erik softly replied, looking down for a moment as they listened to the crowds. "Yes, it all was a very sick joke, wasn't it? But the laughs will end now." He paused. "When they arrive, tell them the truth. You were a hostage. Tell them whatever you wish; I only request that you give me twenty-four hours before you inform them of the location of my residence. Although I doubt _you_ know enough anyhow. But she-she will know…."

"_What?_ All-all right," Raoul murmured as a very conflicting set of emotions overcame him. _"Why?"_ A billion questions were wrapped up in that one word; he received no response. "Where's my brother?" he then softly asked, closing his eyes and preparing for the worst.

"He is to be taken to your mother. If it does not happen—well, your life was the priority. For her." Raoul shakily nodded. "I am leaving." He paused. "Tell her I…tell her I remembered that I must bring her cat to her. I will not break my promise."

"A ca-? Okay." Raoul wondered if he'd fallen unconscious and was in the middle of a hallucination.

Instead of heading to the front door, Erik walked toward the back wall. "Do not go through here; it will lead you directly to the stage area. And I am sure Cameron would be thrilled to have you there." A morbid chuckle and a pause. "And Chagny?"

"Yeah?" Raoul was still waiting to learn that this was all some sort of cruel prank. A last hurrah.

"I leave her in your hands for a reason. Give me reason to regret it, and the pain you felt during our last encounter will feel like a tickle compared to what I will do to you."

Raoul glared after Erik as the masked man literally seemed to step through the concrete wall. His anger was quickly replaced with confusion and anxiety—and disbelief. After a hesitation, Raoul approached the pile on the table. He gaped. Along with the clothing, there was a black semiautomatic handgun. With a swallow, he carefully picked it up and checked for ammunition. It was fully loaded. He gripped onto it for dear life, still feeling as though he were walking through a dream.

Raoul changed clothes as quickly as possible. A small black cap hid his hair. He was too unkempt from weeks of captivity to really look like one of the guards, but, in the darkness, maybe it wouldn't matter. And hadn't Erik mentioned a distraction? What had he meant by that? Jesus. He still didn't even know whether to trust what had just happened….

Cameron continued to stumble through his speech. Raoul paced and waited for…_something _to happen. Suddenly, he heard several shouts, and it sounded as though some of the guards had taken off in a direction away from the stage. Was this the distraction? With a swallow, he glanced outside the unlocked closet. There was still too much of a security presence for him to escape unnoticed. Cursing beneath his breath, Raoul gripped the doorknob, trying to decide whether to make a run for the shed. He ran his thumb over the cold metal of the gun. Most of his experience came from shooting at a range with his father and brother—not fighting his way through a maze of crazed cult members.

It sounded like the speech was ending. Cameron concluded, "And that is why we have gathered tonight my friends. Our event coordinator will now tell you about our future meetings. A piano solo will conclude the assembly. Goodnight. God bless you all." Applause followed.

Raoul sighed and wondered when the hell he was supposed to get out of there. And then, within minutes, he heard Cameron speak to someone nearby. His heart dropped. "Ah. And what do we have here? It looks like our favorite little singer. Christine. Good evening, Christine. So good to see you tonight." His voice was cold and angry-vengeful.

Raoul twisted his neck to a painful angle to see what was happening. Some man with a nasally voice was speaking now about a potluck next week. The stage was much more elaborate than he remembered, the microphone and podium elevated and only accessible with a small set of stairs. Two enormous screens had been placed above it that magnified the happenings below. Raoul turned his head further to get a glimpse of Cameron and Christine at the side of the stage. The jerk was standing beside her in a relaxed and innocuous fashion, but armed guards stood all around, clearly a threat to her. One poked her in the back with his gun. Her face was twisted in terror, and her hands were balled into fists behind her back.

_No._ Christine was supposed to be safe somewhere. This wasn't supposed to be happening. _Shit._ Of all goddamned people, Raoul momentarily scanned the area for some sign of Erik. There was none.

Raoul knew he wouldn't be heading for the shed. In fact, he might now be facing a suicidal mission. He turned around and glanced toward the hidden exit that Erik had disappeared through. It couldn't be any worse than leaving through the front with at least three armed men stationed there. With a sigh, he felt his away along the wall, hoping Erik hadn't locked the strange passage behind him. Finally, his hands passed through the concrete, and, with a swallow, Raoul stepped through the opening that had been hidden by the illusion. For about a minute, he felt his way through darkness. Hearing voices, he paused and glanced out. He would emerge toward the back of the stage, in the shadows of the curtains and behind the person who was speaking at the microphone. Keeping his head down, Raoul darted to the side.

"Get off the stage!" another guard snapped at him, causing Raoul to flinch. "Unless otherwise specified, all security is supposed to be around Cameron. _Now._"

Raoul nodded in compliance and made his way in that direction, keeping his face down and away from Cameron. His skin heated with anger as he heard Christine being tormented. Still, he couldn't reveal himself yet. Not without getting shot.

"Where is your husband, my dear?" asked Cameron, leaning over her and nearly spitting in her face. "Surely he doesn't let his little wife wander alone from place to place? And these clothes." He tsked several times and ran his hands over her arms. "They're not very becoming of a young lady. What on earth have you been up to, my girl?" Christine only glared at the ground.

Again, Raoul was overcome with the fear that Erik had meant for this to happen—that he was just playing a monstrous game…torturing both him and Christine for the pure pleasure of it—watching right now and laughing as Raoul made an attempt to save her.

But no. That couldn't be it. All these men with weapons couldn't be here only because of her. Cameron Lourdes was afraid of something. Or Cameron needed her to lure someone out. There had clearly been a betrayal.

Raoul watched as Cameron gestured for them to move forward. The guards followed him, forcing Christine toward the building in back. _No, no, no. _Was Christine going to die in the same place that Anthony had? With a deep breath, he headed toward the structure, preparing to be discovered and shot. He made it inside and now stood on the expensively decorated first floor. One of the leaders ordered him to remain by the door. The blinds were all drawn, but the sound from outside was still moderately audible. A piano was now playing a gentle melody, signifying the end of the assembly. Cameron stood over Christine as she was forced into a wooden chair.

"Where the hell is Erik?" Cameron screamed, leaning right into her face. "He was supposed to be here! This was my night! And you destroyed it, didn't you, you _disgusting_ little bitch!? Where is he?"

"I don't know," she muttered, keeping her gaze focused downward.

He backhanded hard her across the right cheek. She groaned and turned her head.

"Stop!" Christine cried in pain, unsuccessfully trying to move away from him. "I don't know anything!"

It took every inch of Raoul's self-control not to aim for Cameron's head right then; Christine would be right in the bullet's path. There had to be a better way—than to have them all end up dead tonight.

"Well, it looks like he's abandoned you here, doesn't he?" Cameron continued, moving away from her and pacing across the room. "Maybe he's abandoned both of us. Erik is a soulless monster. The Devil, I think. He cares about nothing except himself. Perhaps he's playing us both, my dear? Is that it? He doesn't care about either of us? Well, there's only one way to find out." He leaned over her again, a nearly demonic smile contorting his flushed face.

"Please," she begged in horror.

"Where's Erik?!" He grabbed her chin with his thumb and index finger, forcing her to look him in the eye.

"I don't know!" she screamed at the top of her lungs.

Raoul was at the end of his tolerance. Especially as Cameron then said, "Get one of the policy specialists here. We're going to remove her little tongue first. See if that draws him out. If not, we'll put her in the medical center and continue from there."

Feeling his heart nearly pound out of his chest, Raoul slowly and discreetly started to raise his weapon. Keeping his head turned to the side, he walked farther into the room.

But then he heard something very strange outside. The piano had stopped in the middle of the song. A few shouts followed. And then a haunting, echoing voice.

Erik's voice.

_The distraction. _

Turning around, Raoul ran to the window and ripped open the blinds. Everyone in the room gaped as bright light filled the room, illuminating them all in a ghostly glow. "What the hell are you-?" Cameron started to ask but then looked outwards with the rest of his guards. Every audience member was staring up at the two screens, hypnotized. The stage itself was empty.

"Oh," Christine whispered.

The haunting voice echoed throughout the entire stadium. "Good evening," Raoul could hear Erik's voice clearly say as he put his ear to the window. "Welcome. Allow me to introduce myself. I am…the Spirit."

"Praise God!" shouted several people.

"Save us!"

"Take us with you!"

Others fell to their knees and raised their clasped hands toward the sky. With that voice, his words were very believable.

"What the hell?" roared Cameron, finally able rip his attention away from the sight. "Someone turn on the sound! Someone show me the screens! What the hell is happening?"

One of the other men pushed several buttons on the nearby electronic system. A television screen in the room flashed on, and he flipped through several channels. A tall, dark, faceless silhouette appeared on the screen. No details could be discerned. It was merely a talking shadow with the voice of an angel.

"Unfortunately," Erik continued. "I am here to clarify a few matters, and I fear that many of you will find yourselves rather disappointed. You see, you have been manipulated and deceived beyond your wildest dreams. I have controlled your every movement…your every decision. I have taken your lives and made you mere puppets. And perhaps—perhaps since you believe me to be a Spirit, you do not care. You want me to control you, no? Ah. But here-here is where you will be disappointed." A pause. "I am but a man. Or perhaps a monster. But I am no Spirit." A pause as the faces of the audience contorted in confusion. Still, they remained mesmerized. "Now let me tell you, and the rest of this poor nation, a little tale…."

"No," whispered Cameron, pulling himself away from the voice. He pounded his fists against the glass so hard that Raoul feared it would shatter. "No! No! _No!_ Stop him!" Cameron rapidly pushed button after button until he shut off the sound and video in the room, awakening everyone from their stupor.

Tears streaming down her swollen cheeks, Christine softly laughed. "He's stopping you! He's stopping you! Now everyone will know!"

"How is this happening?!" Cameron screamed.

"Someone's hijacked the equipment!" replied one of the men. "It looks like a national broadcast!"

"What floor?" asked Cameron, running around the room in a panic. "What floor is he on?"

"I don't know! He could be anywhere!"

"Well, it has to be in this building, right, you idiot?! Right? Get up there and kill him! Just kill him!" Cameron let out a growl of anger, his eyes nearly insane with rage. "I am going on stage! Get me on camera! Now! Get him off the screen and me on this instant!" He turned toward Christine, sneering. "And keep her alive for now! I may need her on stage in a few moments." He stormed out of the room and raced outside. Several of the men ran upstairs to search for Erik and to try to reclaim the screens, and the rest followed Cameron. One guard remained with Christine, his arm and gun at his side as he and Raoul were silently given the boring task of guarding a helpless girl.

Raoul knew this might be his only chance to safely get her out of here. He made his way forward and behind the man, holding the gun higher. Swallowing, he held it against the guard's back.

"What the hell?" the man asked, flinching and trying to turn around.

"Get out," said Raoul beneath his breath. "Get out now." The gun cocked as he pulled the slide back.

The man raised both his hands into the air. "Who are you? What the hell are you doing?"

"Get out."

"All right. All right." The man walked toward the door, trying to turn around once or twice to see who was holding a gun on him. Once they were outside, Raoul gave him a hard shove down the short set of steps. He landed on his hands and knees, groaning in pain. Raoul ran back inside, shutting the door behind him.

Christine warily looked up, pale and shaking. Her cheek was red and swollen. Slowly, her eyes widened in shock and relief. "Raoul," she whispered with a sob. "Oh my God. I can't believe it. I thought you were…."

"Sh. Yeah, Chris. I'm here." He gave her a quick kiss on the unharmed cheek and quickly worked to untie her hands. They embraced. "We've got to get out of here. Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she replied, unsteadily standing. She looked toward the stairs with fear.

"We'll go before they come down. C'mon!"

"There's no one up here!" exclaimed one of the men. "It's empty!"

This seemed to bring some relief to her expression. And Raoul tiredly realized that she'd been afraid they were going to find Erik. Christine nodded, and they raced out of the building together. The guard that Raoul threatened wasn't there, which meant he was probably searching for help. Fortunately, it was going to be very difficult to tell anyone anything. Everyone was either hypnotized or panicking.

"—and once the economy crumbled, there was no hope. Your crime rates skyrocketed. Your birth rates plummeted. Only Cameron Lourdes seemed to thrive. And that was no coincidence."

"Look," she murmured. "He's telling them everything."

"Yeah. I know. It's going to be over soon." His eyes scanned the arena, looking for the best way out. An unsettling mob had begun to surround the stage area. They had a choice between trying to survive that or running behind a distracted Cameron as he attempted to calm the crowds. A gun went off within the throng of people. Screams followed. Another gunshot. Swallowing, Raoul made his choice.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"There's a passage near the back of the stage. It leads to this…closet where I was held. And then there's a shed that has another passage. And—"

She softly laughed and wiped a tear away. "You spoke to him, didn't you?"

"Y-yeah. I was supposed to go to you. But—"

"It was my fault," she murmured. "I didn't do what I was supposed to…."

"Don't worry," he whispered, giving her hand a squeeze. "We're going to make it."

* * *

She was utterly disoriented by that point, first terrorized by Cameron as she waited for parts of her body to literally be dismembered and now nearly dizzy with relief. Raoul was alive and well next to her. Erik was somewhere distant, speaking to all these people. For the first time, he was telling them the truth. It would be over soon. Despite the danger of the situation, joy radiated from her heart.

Chaos would soon overtake the Community, and that would present another dangerous situation. The audience was murmuring to themselves, still transfixed by Erik's speech. Some people were now crying. Some were marching toward the stage, probably hungry for revenge. Some were simply staring into space, shocked as they discovered their existence had been made up of lies.

Cameron and his men had finally managed to get control of one of the screens. He didn't have too many guards at his service by this point. But he did have a few loyal forces remaining, maybe those who had been at least vaguely aware of the plot all along—or those who didn't care what crimes Cameron had committed so long as they had power.

"Listen!" Cameron exclaimed, raising his hands in the air and trying to reclaim the attention of his people. Sweat dripped from his forehead and into his beard. "Listen to me! These are all lies! Ungodly lies told to you by the Devil!" He gestured to the screen where Erik was still speaking. "That is the Devil! Don't you see what he's trying to do? He's trying to tempt you away from our blessed Community! The Devil is trying to trick you!"

"So you see," Erik continued. "It was not the work of God. Quite the opposite—"

Erik's voice overpowered Cameron's in a million different ways. It wasn't hard to tell who had a stronger grip on the audience. While it was difficult not to be hypnotized by the drama playing out, Christine knew they had to keep going. They had to get back to that safe room. Before a riot started.

"Almost there," said Raoul, leading them along the wall.

Maybe she lingered too long while watching. Or maybe her movements were too slow from the exhaustion and the trauma. Or maybe it wasn't her fault at all. But she momentarily lost sight of Raoul as he disappeared behind the curtains. She paused, disoriented.

And Cameron suddenly yelled, "Grab her! Grab that damned girl!"

She screamed as two hands gripped her arms and dragged her to the middle of the stage.

"Here's our little singer," said Cameron, probably hoping to use her to lure Erik away from his mission. But Erik didn't react on the screen. He didn't flinch. Maybe he didn't even know. "Too bad she'll never sing again, eh, Erik?" Still no reaction. "_Erik!_ Look at what I'm going to do to her!" Cameron grabbed Christine's hair, jerking her head back. "Do you want to see what happens to disobedient women?" he asked. His eyes were crazy. His voice was desperate. He knew the game was about over- which, while wonderful for the rest of society, was horrible for her. Cameron literally had nothing to lose and only revenge to take. "Erik—watch what I—"

A gunshot rang into the air. Christine shrieked as everyone around her lurched backward. Cameron grabbed his right shoulder with his left hand and sank to his knees, now bleeding through his gnarled fingers. She turned and watched as Raoul tried to aim for Cameron's chest this time but was tackled down by one of the other men. "No!" she gasped.

"No. Don't kill the kid yet." Clutching his arm, Cameron stared at him with pure hatred. "Mr. Chagny. So nice to see you again. You'll enjoy watching this just as much as _he_ will, I think. All this trouble over her? And for _what_? These people are all doomed to Hell all because of her. You've all doomed the entire country to Hell!"

Two other men circled around on both sides of them, blurred at the corners of her teary vision. "Do it now," Cameron ordered from the ground, his voice growing weaker. "I don't care if it kills her. Just do it. Maybe it'll get his attention." Realizing what was about to happen, she clamped her mouth shut, grinding her teeth together. One man squeezed her nose closed so that she couldn't breathe. The other forced her head back.

"Open it, or I'll take out an eye first!" the man spat. He brushed her hair out of her face. "Open up now."

A sharp object was dangerously close to her eyeballs. And she needed to breathe anyway. Her lips slowly parted.

Erik's heavenly voice floated all around them as he continued to speak. She was so very proud of him that she thought her heart might burst. And Raoul…. She could hear him shouting in protest. He'd probably sacrificed his own life for her that night. Her eyes brimmed with tears at all this knowledge-with all this love.

As Christine tried to turn her head and delay the inevitable, she felt a sharp pain slice through her cheek. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, causing her to gag and sputter. She sensed a sharp point against the back of her tongue. Christine squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself.

A gust of air brushed against her face.

_Pop._


	33. Chapter 33

Hello and thank you so much. We are winding down here, and I'm sad to see this story end as it's been so much fun to write. I think there will be maybe two more chapters after this one and then an Epilogue. I'm still a little undecided on the Epilogue, but it could run anywhere from one to several vignettes.

**Read and Review!**

With every last bit of energy he had, Raoul tried to struggle away from the man holding him back. He knew that a gun was aimed at his head and that he probably had only seconds of life remaining. Still, all he could focus on was Christine as her head was forced backward and a gleaming silver knife was plunged into her mouth. "No!" he screamed as he saw a trickle of blood on the left corner of her lip. It was Anthony again, and Raoul felt a strong surge of hatred intermingle with his fear. The noise grew louder and louder around him as the crowds panicked while Erik continued to speak from above, and for a second Raoul just hoped that they all destroyed each other.

He sunk to the ground on his stomach, frozen as he could only stare forward and watch as the evil bastard angled the knife to slice out her tongue.

The air shifted as though a storm had flown in.

_Pop. _

The man who was holding the knife fell away from her, his head twisted unnaturally on his neck as he crumpled to the ground. The other guard who had been near her was twitching feet away, his expression one of agony. Raoul noticed that his arms were free. He jerked his head around and saw his captor lying on the stage, his groans barely audible over the roar of the crowd. Raoul gaped for a second and then turned around, preparing to run toward Christine. Cameron was staring at the scene with his mouth hanging open. His face was pale as he continued to bleed through the gunshot wound. Christine sputtered blood and blinked, disoriented as she sat up on her elbows and looked back and forth.

And then a tall silhouette detached itself from the other shadows behind the stage. With one arm, Erik scooped up Christine. Raoul heard the voice even as it continued to speak above. "If you want to live, boy, you had better keep up." And Raoul understood. A recording was playing on the screen. Erik was here.

"Demon! Devil!" Cameron's voice growled nearby. He attempted to stand and then half-stumbled, half-crawled toward Erik. "I hate you! I hate you! I would have given you everything! I hate you!"

Erik slowly turned toward him, and Raoul could feel the death in the air. The masked man took several slow, calculated steps toward Mr. Lourdes. Cameron backed up toward the edge of the stage, still waving his good arm and insanely shouting, "Devil! Demon! You're Satan! Away Satan! Devil! Devil!"

"Mr. Lourdes," began Erik in a calm, cold voice. "It sounds like your people want a word with you. Why don't you…_inspire_ them?" Erik barely touched Cameron's chest with his free hand, but it was enough to cause Cameron to go flying off the stage and into the enraged audience. An agonized scream of horror followed. Several morbid crackling sounds pierced the smoke-scented air. Raoul shuddered and turned away as the people he had lied to for so long descended upon Cameron Lourdes.

Chaos completely consumed the background. Crying and shouting and the clatter of metal against metal. Children bawling and people shouting to the sky over and over, "Oh, God. Oh, God. Help me. Help me."

A huge white cloud of smoke puffed out around them, a shield of sorts, and Raoul realized that Erik had created it. He raced after the shadow and Christine as they headed behind the stage and into the passage behind the curtains. Into the dark tunnel and through the closet. And then they were outside again. There was an "oomph" as Erik threw someone out of their way. Debris was flying through the air, and Raoul barely dodged a flying rock. He heard a soft shattering noise, and it sounded like something had broken. Erik cursed softly but didn't slow down.

Through the shed, and they were soon moving downwards, the cacophony above became less audible. The air was still and much cooler. He heard Erik speak to her, one hand behind her head as he maintained her in a sitting position. "Keep your head up. We will be fine soon."

Raoul's lungs burned and his legs ached. Still, he kept up, knowing his life depended on it. Finally, Erik slowed to a fast stride. "Christine, we are safe now. But you must open your mouth and let me look." Her arms were around his neck, and her fingers were curled into his jacket for dear life. She must have resisted in her panic. "You must. So I know what to do next." With a soft groan, she finally did so. Erik gently tilted her face from side to side, examining her.

"Do I have a tongue?" she murmured.

Erik softly laughed; it was a very strange sound. "You would not be able to ask if you did not. Can't you feel it?"

A pause. "Yes." She gave a shuddery sigh and put her head back against his shoulder. Then she glanced up again and raised a hand to his face, her expression softening.

"Is she okay?" Raoul dared to ask.

Erik tensed slightly as though he'd forgotten Raoul was behind him. He answered, "The inside of her cheek was cut severely, and her tongue has a minor injury. I must stop the bleeding. There is no permanent damage."

"Thank God," he muttered, shoulders collapsing back in relief.

"The better question is-what the _hell _were you doing up there? Was that your idea, Chagny?"

Before Raoul could defend himself, Christine quickly spoke. "Erik," she tried to explain, her voice garbled. "Abby. They were torturing—I couldn't let…."

"It is fine. It is fine." He quickly calmed her. "We will talk later." Erik then spoke to Raoul without turning to face him. "We are below the central compound. I am running above for supplies and to assess the situation. You will stay here. Keep her awake and her head up so that she does not swallow blood, do you understand? Do what you are told. For once."

Raoul slowly nodded, annoyed at being talked to this way and yet too exhausted and relieved to do anything about it. All he wanted to do was get him and Christine out of this nightmare and to his mother's house. And make sure Phillip was alive. And then he would probably sleep for several days—hopefully with Christine resting in his arms.

Erik gently placed her on the ground, propping her up against the cement wall. Raoul finally got a very brief glimpse of the side of his face and realized that the shattering noise had probably been the mask breaking. He sucked in his breath, shocked at the macabre sight, but then quickly glanced downward. Without a word, Erik slipped his jacket off and tucked it behind her back for comfort. Without the dark material, he almost looked frail. "I will return soon," he said. "Keep her calm."

With a shaky sigh, Raoul crouched down beside her. He brushed her long hair out of her sweaty face. "I'm so sorry," he said. "I thought you were behind me."

She put a hand on his cheek and shook her head. Her blue eyes said: _It's not your fault._

They silently sat there together, staring forward. When her lids started to close, Raoul gently nudged her shoulder. "Hey. You'd better stay awake. My life might depend on it." She nearly giggled and then winced in pain. "Sorry, Chris." He rubbed a hand over his face, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time. They were alive-but what a god-awful mess they were.

Erik returned within twenty minutes. Raoul leaned back, still highly wary and distrustful of the man. Still, Christine wasn't afraid of him, and so Raoul said nothing as Erik helped her wash her mouth out with water. She spit out blood onto the cement. Erik then assisted in slipping white gauze into her mouth. "The bleeding will stop, and you will heal quickly," he said. "I will give you something to help you relax." She nodded. Erik gently pried her hand from his shirtsleeve and handed her two white pills with water. He then stood and turned around—continuing to keep his full profile out of view.

Raoul wondered what was happening above. Erik spoke again to both of them before he could ask.

"It is highly chaotic. Some of Cameron's guards are turning on each other. I will not even risk putting you in the safe room a second time. The police are gathering in the distance along with whatever remains of the higher authorities; they are blocking the streets. They are not near to sending in medical rescue yet, and she is in no condition to be questioned. And—"Erik paused and then said with a note of concern, "Your appearance on television tonight may complicate all this in a way I cannot yet discern."

"So what are we going to do?" Raoul tiredly asked. What he really meant was: _When the hell are you going to get us out of here? _

"She will rest and recover here. And then, after I can discern whether the chaos has spread outside of the Community and the condition of the roads, we will continue. I will eventually take you up. And then—then it is best if you call someone who can discreetly pick you both up. Is there someone, Chagny?"

"Yeah."

"_Good. _Otherwise, I would have to deliver you there myself, and that is not in anyone's best interest, is it?" Erik sighed. "Within days, I will reveal my home to them, and they will have all the evidence they require. And then—then you will both be free to go about your lives." Raoul nodded. A soft sound escaped her lips, and Christine looked upwards. "Rest," he told her. "You will be fine." Erik touched her hair and then walked away, quickly blending into the shadows once again.

It was a strange thing to have someone that you hated keeping you alive. And maybe…maybe Raoul didn't even _hate_ him anymore. For the first time, he understood that Erik cared about her. It wasn't the distorted lust that'd he'd imagined. Still, he didn't understand Erik, and Raoul didn't really want to. He just wanted Erik to go away—and not damage anything else. And not hurt her anymore.

Her eyes closed. Raoul sat there for a while, too exhausted and hollow inside to feel any sort of victory. After checking once to make sure that Christine was sleeping comfortably beside him, Raoul leaned back into the wall and uneasily slept as well. Every so often, an echo from above awoke him. And he knew that everything was changing by the second. And he wondered if everything would really be okay now.

* * *

When Christine awoke, her mouth felt dry and awful, a horrible bitter taste lingering on her sore tongue. The bleeding had stopped, though. Whatever Erik had given her had helped to dull the pain. Still, her head throbbed slightly. She looked around in the darkness, and a soft cough escaped her throat. She winced.

The memories of earlier returned, shocking her a second time. It was quiet and dark—except for a small light about ten yards away. _Erik._ Christine hesitated and then slowly stood.

Raoul mumbled something in his sleep.

"Be right back," she managed to say. "Sleep."

Dizzily, she made her way to her feet, clutching her arms to her chest for warmth. She followed the light and came to a small alcove in the tunnels. Erik was crouched on his knees and facing away from her. A radio was on beside him. Christine stopped and listened to the announcer.

"—many things we don't know. We don't know if that was a prank, Tim. You know, someone's idea of a joke. It's—Oh, we have some aerial shots of the Community, and one look will tell you all you need to know. It's chaos there tonight."

"What about the cities?" asked another man. "Have we gotten reports on the reactions there?"

"A few reports of riots and looting here and there. But I think, like you and I, most people are just waiting to see what's found. If, and that's a very big if—_if_ that strange broadcast turns out to be true—well, you know, it would—"

"It'd change everything," the other announcer agreed. "We'd have to look at the last several years with a giant magnifying glass, wouldn't we?"

"Exactly, exactly. Ladies and gentlemen, please stay with us as we continue to cover this possibly historical evening…."

She couldn't tell if Erik was sleeping or just listening. Christine made a small noise in the back of her throat so as not to surprise him. It was probably never a good idea to startle Erik. But he didn't flinch; he knew she was there. His head rose slightly. "I had… expected you to sleep longer. Are you feeling well?"

"Yes," she whispered although it sounded more like, "Os."

She slowly sat down cross-legged behind him. After a second, she pulled the red and white gauze out. A soreness lingered, but it was bearable. The thought of what had almost happened to her was more upsetting than anything. _I almost didn't have a tongue. Or eyes…._

"I will take you above very soon. Then you will be more comfortable, I am sure." His voice was soft and distant.

Christine stared at the ground, feeling perturbed as she attempted to process her thoughts. She had the feeling that time was becoming precious again. So far, simply knowing the truth had helped her accomplish a great deal. "What happened?" she asked. "Up there."

He turned his head slightly to see her out of the corner of his eyes. "What do you mean?"

She pointed her index finger upwards. "All of it. Why was Raoul there? And Cameron…."

"Oh." He waved his hand to the side. "Ah. The boy was to originally be framed. You see, even if I had freed him, Cameron would have had him executed simply because he knew all of our secrets. But- Cameron agreed that Chagny's reputation would be destroyed if he were connected to the bombings. The boy also wouldn't end up a martyr for the other side. And, for your sake per our bargain, he would be alive. But forever locked away and unable to find you. I…knew he would never stop searching for you. Why would he? You are _everything_."

She slowly nodded. "Well, you stopped it," she said. "Thank you for saving his life." Erik's shoulders still slumped.

"After I left you, _supposedly_ safe, I released him and told him to come to you. Cameron's audiovisual system was easily jammed and then overtaken with a simple program. And then it was practical to go to a more secure location and begin my work. While I was recording, I began to play the earlier video to save time. I still thought I had a great deal of time. And then-then I saw you on stage. And knew my time was short."

"Abby," she murmured. "They were going to break her arm if I didn't come out."

"Ah. I see. Yes, you would not allow that to happen, I know."

"Sorry," she whispered with a swallow.

"Oh…no," he murmured. "You must not be sorry for anything. Nothing, Christine. None of it was ever your fault." He paused and stared straight ahead again. "It will take some time, perhaps months, for it all to quiet down. They will find evidence in my home, once I disclose the location. There are facts I won't ever allow them to discover. My history, for one. They do not need to know of my disgusting, pathetic beginnings." His voice was so hollow, and she still didn't quite understand.

Christine gently leaned forward on her knees and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you. Erik, I-"

He didn't turn around or react, only continued to speak. "I will safely retrieve your cat. And then…then you will be fine soon. You will have a life that is worthy of you."

Her sore mouth fell open slightly. "Erik, will you look at me please?" He slowly obeyed, his face still bare, each groove and fatal imperfection outlined in the shadows. His thin lips were set in a line, and his eyes were dull. Her exhausted mind finally comprehended what was happening. Too many things were swirling through her head, and her mouth was barely functional enough to say any of them. Her hands were shaking. But if she didn't do something, it was all going to get away from her.

She could hear Raoul stirring in the other room. "Christine?" he called.

Erik quickly stood. "You had best go to him before he thinks I have stolen you away again. We will walk a distance from the Community. And then he will call for help."

He took her hand, and she started to squeeze his affectionately. But then Erik performed a final magic trick-and her ring disappeared. He no longer wore his. "Wh-why would you do this _now_?" she asked with wide eyes. "What—I don't understand. I thought we were…."

"Do _what_?" he harshly asked. "I am fixing it all for you, Christine. I am ending it as I said I would. It is all I have left to give you. Your life back."

Her lip trembled. "What will you do afterwards?"

"Does it even matter? I will not…cause any more harm to the world, if that's what you're concerned about. You have nothing to fear from me. You will never hear from me or of me again."

"Chris?" Raoul called from the other room.

She spoke rapidly. "But I…I meant what I said tonight. When you bring Cocoa, please come see me. I want to talk to you. I want—"

"I release you from every single bargain," he interrupted. "Every choice you were forced into. You need not worry about the promises you made as I twisted your arm behind your back. They were never yours to make."

"Chris?"

Erik made a noise of irritation as Raoul continued to call for her.

She felt responsible for Erik-not in that she owed him or had unwanted obligations. It was like-like a desperate need to see him thrive. A horror that such brilliance could languish and rot. And a knowledge that, beneath the layers of anger and bitterness, his heart must be very big to do what he had done that night. To give up all of it. For her no less. A warm light flickered in Christine's heart. And it suddenly hurt.

"But I…meant it," she hoarsely repeated. "I want to know you. I _meant_ it." He refused to look at her. Or maybe he couldn't look at her, shoulders slowly moving up and down with deep breaths. Footsteps approached. Before Raoul came in and made the situation tenser, she quickly walked back to the other tunnel, panic tightening her chest.

"Hey. There you are. How are you feeling?" Raoul asked with relief. They briefly embraced.

"Fine," she whispered. "Much better."

"Great. I can't believe that bastard tried to…take out your tongue…."

She shook her head. "I wasn't the only one. A lot of the girls were already maimed. Their eyes. Feet."

"That's awful!" he exclaimed in disgust. "What a sick society." He glanced toward the ceiling. "I wonder what's happening up there now."

"I don't know. It's probably still a mess."

"Yeah. So…." He looked around, bewildered. "What are _we_ going to do?"

"He'll take us up soon. And you can call your family."

Clear relief shown in his eyes. "Great. Fantastic."

With no indication of their conversation, Erik soon emerged with a makeshift tan cloth mask now covering his face. He really did look like a ghost now, and that hurt her heart even more. After picking up his jacket, he led them in the same direction as before and spoke. "Direct roads into and out of the Community are blocked. There is not extreme rioting or disruption in the cities at this time. Still, be discreet." Erik painstakingly gave Raoul instructions as to how their rescuers would need to arrive. For several minutes, the conversation remained civil. And then Raoul's distrust met with Erik's lingering pain and jealousy.

"It is best you don't mention her when you call," Erik stated.

"Why?" Raoul asked suspiciously.

"Security. There is…uncertainty. I will explain it to _her_ before she leaves," Erik snidely replied.

"What? Ugh. Fine." Raoul muttered. Then, he tried to clarify, "So wait, they come to this street, but then—"

"I have told you three times!" Erik snapped.

And that was when she stepped between them and said, "I understand. I'll help." It was time to get poor Raoul out of there and back to the world he knew. They all needed a couple days to gather their minds.

Erik soon gave her a phone, and she handed it to Raoul. He eagerly dialed and closed his eyes. "Hi, Mom. Yeah, it is me." Christine could hear screams of excitement on the other end. She smiled, so grateful that Judy wouldn't be facing the deaths of her two sons. "Listen. Don't tell anyone else yet, okay? I need someone to help me home. Can someone help? I don't know what it's like out there…." A pause. "No, I haven't seen any recent news. Is there rioting, or—Oh, well, that's good. Hey, is Phil okay? Great. Thank God. So…you or someone can come? Great. Great. Listen, here's the easiest way." He quickly gave her Erik's directions. "Yeah. I love you, too. See you soon." He hung up, looking as though he'd just won the lottery.

"So she's coming?" Christine asked with a tired smile.

"Yeah. Well, her and a family friend or something. She thought I'd run off to a foreign country."

"Great. And they'll…let us lay low?" She didn't want to face anyone right now.

"Yeah. It's all going to be great, Chris. We're going to be fine."

Erik silently gestured for them to follow again, and they walked a distance behind. He seemed to be listening to something with his chin titled downward, maybe another smaller radio. Every so often his shoulders would tense. She stared at the back of him, increasingly distressed and confused.

"Raoul," she whispered, looking at the ground.

"Yeah?"

"You won't tell them, right? About-?"

He was silent for a long moment. "Not if-if you don't want me to," he whispered back. "You know, Chris, I just-I want to go home and see my family. And move on. I want to move on. I'm not out for revenge. Not after all this."

She released a sigh of relief. "Thank you. Thank you for everything, Raoul."

"It was nothing," he murmured with a soft laugh. "I'll just be happy to get us both out of here. And then we're getting ice cream."

She laughed as well. And then she again glanced at Erik. His back was so very rigid. She wondered if he could hear their conversation. Or was something else wrong? Suddenly, she had a very foreboding feeling. And yet she had no idea as to what to make of it. _Hadn't they all been through enough?_

Just as her feet were beginning to become sore, they finally stopped. Erik gestured to a set of iron stairs. Raoul stared at them in disbelief—stairs right up to heaven. He eagerly went first, footsteps pounding against the metal. He crawled into the early morning sunlight as though it were the only thing keeping him alive. She peeked out and smiled sadly. They were near a wooded area and park, which had fallen into an extreme state of disrepair, the swings hanging by one chain and the metal on the slides rusted. She hoped it would all be fixed soon, made to shine again and filled with happy children. She closed her eyes and visualized this, finally having hope. _Hope. _

Raoul held out a hand. "Are you coming? They should be here soon."

"Christine." Erik's voice was a pleading whisper.

"Yeah." She nodded. "Please give me a second."

He nodded and reluctantly withdrew his hand. "Okay. I'll let you know when I see them."

She desperately wanted to talk to him again, before he disappeared forever. He had walked several yards away, and his head was down. Christine quickly approached. "Erik—"

"Hush," he said, keeping his head down. She frowned, offended and hurt. But then she realized that he was still listening to something. There was soft static and muffled voices that she couldn't understand. Christine waited, hands clenched at her side. Finally, he looked up and toward her. And his eyes almost seemed frightened.

"Erik—" she started again.

"Listen," hoarsely began Erik at the same time.

"You're not alone, you know?" She swallowed. "I at least deserve the chance to talk to you. And, Erik, you deserve to hear me."

"Most would say I deserve a firing squad. Now listen to me," he commanded through gritted teeth. "On the police radio, you see. It is all progressing much faster than I imagined. But-it was inevitable anyhow." He closed his eyes. "The authorities are coming."

"_What?" _She glanced upwards in alarm.

"Chagny's mother told them; she likely had little choice. But he will be perfectly fine. He is considered a hero because of his attacks on Cameron. They believe that he was trying to prevent the explosives from going off. They are not here to arrest him; they are here to _protect_ him. But—_you._ Christine, there will be initial suspicion. Because of that horrid commercial and other promotional materal. Others witnessed you working with him, and they are disgustingly eager to reveal your name. And that is my fault. It is _all_ my fault—for forcing you into those situations."

"Didn't they see him try to take my tongue out?" she whispered. "Don't they know what he tried to do to me?"

"No. The footage is unclear. It is obvious that the boy takes a shot at Cameron, but that is all."

"What should I do?" she frantically asked, stepping toward him with outreached hands. "What should I say?"

"They will want to question you; the boy and his prominent family will offer some protection. He will not allow them to intimidate you, of course. He will tell what he knows." Erik paused, his eyes fixed on the ground. "And you must simply-simply tell them _everything_ that occurred, do you understand? Not my location. Not yet. I will reveal that soon enough. And then, if necessary, I will offer myself—to clear you of all wrongdoing. They will want me far, far more than you."

"What?" she whispered in sickened shock.

"Simply tell them, Christine. Tell them the truth. I will do the rest."

"Chris, they're almost here!" Raoul called from above.

"Go," he said.

"But I—"

"Go!" he growled at her. _"_Tell them! Tell them you were first brainwashed and then threatened and tormented!_ Tell them the truth, Christine! _Because it is. What I did to you-it is fitting that I have my _face_ all over the television, if it comes to that. The country will have its hero and its villain._"_ He paused and then whispered, "It really does not matter now. I must end this."

"Erik," she whispered, placing a hand over her frantically beating heart. "I can't—"

"_Go!" _He placed his face in his hands and turned away from her. "Go."

Nearly about to keel over with the agony of what was happening, Christine turned around and climbed the stairs. She stuck her head into the sunlight, blinking and squinting. But she held back, hidden behind several overgrown bushes and weeds. Only her face poked out from beneath the ground. She tilted her head to see and listen.

A black SUV was parked on the side of the grassy road. Some police cars lined up in the distance as well. Raoul sprinted toward the black vehicle as his mother stepped out of the passenger's side. "Raoul!" Judy grabbed him and hugged him tightly. Three tall and rather intimidating men in suits stepped out as well. Raoul looked between them all with slight surprise. "It's okay," his mother said with teary eyes, her hands gripping his shoulders. "They just want to talk to you. And keep you safe." One of the men gave him a strong pat on the back.

Raoul's face turned a little red as he shook their hands, and he was obviously surprised by the larger than expected welcoming committee. He very subtly glanced in the direction she was hiding. And he must have noticed the fear and caution in her expression. "Hey. Um, I need to talk to you about Christine…."

"Christine who?" asked one of the men with wide eyes.

"Christine Daae," Raoul replied. "Listen, she's—"

"You know where she is?" he eagerly asked. "Hey. We need to have a _long_ conversation with that one. Cameron's spokeswoman? Do you know where she is?"

Raoul's mouth fell open slightly. "Look, she wasn't Cameron's spokeswoman. That's a lie! She helped fixed all this!"

"All right, son. All right. Calm down. Where is she? We'll ask her some questions and figure this out."

Raoul was frozen, his expression uncertain.

"Sweetheart, do you know where she is?" asked his mother. "It might help."

"Why do you want to talk to her?" he asked, frustrated. "She didn't do anything wrong!"

They all look amongst each other. "Look, son," the same man began. "A lot of people are being questioned right now. I mean, after that terrifying broadcast, we're trying to sort this mess out. She was the original face and voice of the Community, right? She was apparently on stage last night in Cameron's last moments. But, if you're saying she's innocent—well, it'll get sorted out eventually. Maybe she was just another brainwashed member. I'd believe it. Do you know where she is?"

Raoul cast a panicked glance in her direction. And then, with the tiniest shake of her head, she made her final decision. _Don't tell them._ A numbness settled in the center of her chest. So this was it.

With an expression of near agony on his face, Raoul turned around. "Um. No. I think she might have…um…been hurt or killed back there. I don't really know. That's what I wanted to say. That you should see if she's still at the Community. But she was a hero. Everyone should know that…."

"Oh. That's a shame," said the man with a frown. "Well, we haven't recovered a body yet, so that's good news. She could give us some info."

Raoul glanced back one last time. His eyes told her that he was going to try and set things straight as quickly as possible. His mother hugged him again, and he quickly embraced her. One of the men gave him another pat on his shoulder. Their voices faded away as they turned and climbed into the vehicles.

He was safe now, thank God. And maybe Raoul would be the hero. And that was just fine. Because he was. He'd been her hero when she'd most needed him.

No one would ever accept nor understand the truth.

She climbed back down into the darkness.

_You're still twisting my arm, Erik. Just now in the opposite direction. _

Or had he wordlessly given her a choice when telling Raoul not to mention her?

It was time for the most daunting conversation of her life.


	34. Chapter 34

All righty. Thanks so much for all your support. I hope you enjoy this chapter. It was a tricky one. The next chapter should be the last before the Epilogue unless it gets ridiculously long, as sometimes happens—much to all of your disappointment, I know ;)

**Read and Review!**

Above her, she could hear the roar of the engines as the vehicles started and drove away. Then silence except for her soft footsteps on the concrete.

He was standing near the same spot, still turned away. And he knew she was there. "What are you doing?" he asked in a raspy voice. "Twisting the knife? You are killing me. I have a great deal of work to do before this is over, and you are killing me before it is complete."

She stared at him with her sore mouth hanging open, bewildered. "I think I almost just got arrested!" she finally replied in an angry whisper. "Is that what you planned?"

"No, you silly girl. The boy would not have allowed that."

"I'm not so sure. I don't think he has the kind of power that Phillip has."

Erik shrugged, head tilted downward. "There was no other choice. Even if you had made it to Chagny's home unscathed today, eventually you will have to speak to them. You have every reason to simply tell the truth."

"I won't," she said.

Erik whirled around. "Then I will go up there this instant, in the middle of broad damned daylight, and announce who I am," he growled. "Will _that_ make you happy? I am sure they will not give you a second glance. I could even remove my mask for them. Is that what you want?"

This wasn't the conversation she wanted. "Erik," she whispered. The anger evaporated from her voice. "I'm not going to turn you in. I don't want you to turn yourself in. All I really want is to talk to you. I've been begging you for that, but you're not listening. I thought that maybe it would be good to have a couple of days to think about things while you cleaned out your home. And because my cheek feels like it's on fire." She put her hand up to it. "But I guess it'll have to be now."

He glanced upwards. "But they—"

"They're leaving," she gently interrupted. "Raoul is safe and back where he belongs, thanks to you. So unless you're going to leave me in the tunnels by myself, I guess I'm your responsibility."

He held out his open palms toward her. "I gave you everything you asked for. The events. Cameron. The Chagny brothers."

She smiled slightly. "You really did."

"Then what do you want now? I don't know what you want from me. I freed you from your bargains. I am ending it, and there is nothing left for you to do."

Her mouth opened, and she glanced from side to side. It was cold and dark, and she was starting to feel nauseated from pain and the elements. "Is your home still safe?"

"For now."

"Maybe we should go there and talk."

He nearly groaned. "Take you back there? Are you _mad_? Is this all a game to you? What if this was your only chance? Then what, Christine? Do you assume I am a sane and reasonable individual?"

She hadn't thought deeply about that. But if it was a choice between being imprisoned by government agents who thought she was Cameron's right-hand woman …or trapped with someone who loved her enough to give up an entire country—it still made sense. And she thought she could handle the rest of it now. He was trying to intimidate her, but he looked far too miserable to be all that successful at it. "Erik, Erik." She stepped forward and took his ice cold hand. "I just thought it'd be nicer. But if we have to talk here, then so be it. I think we should sit down." Christine stared at the ground with a sigh as though contemplating how they would comfortably sit on it.

"Fine. Fine," he whispered in what sounded like feigned aggravation. It took another moment for him to gather himself, probably because she'd just interrupted what sounded like a suicide mission. "We will leave this miserable hole. But we must walk a ways. Do you feel well enough to do so?"

"Yes. Luckily, Cameron went for my tongue instead of a foot."

He sadly laughed. "I think I would have preferred that to never hearing you sing again."

They strolled together through the tunnels, an unspoken agreement stating all was not settled. "Erik, can those girls be helped?" she hesitantly asked, taking the edge off the tense silence. "I mean, is there technology that can make them okay again?"

"It depends on the injury," he replied. "An artificial foot will be easily attainable once the health system in this country is repaired. Hands, feet, limbs—technology has come far."

"How about eyes?"

"Some progress. But her journey will be more difficult. Intensive surgeries at least. Still, once she is removed from the Community, her quality of life will rapidly improve, I am sure."

Christine nodded. "I wonder if Abby is okay, too."

"Physically, she likely is. I ran across her while searching for supplies and threw her into a locked room. The authorities found her alive. As to her mental state and future, I do not know."

"Cameron has a sister," she replied, remembering what she had read while in Canada. "Maybe she'll help."

"Ah yes. I do recall that." Erik chuckled. "I once witnessed an encounter between them during my very first months here. She called him a misogynistic pig and hurled a glass of orange juice upon his pants. He had little power at that time and so was simply forced to endure it."

She refrained from laughing so that her face didn't hurt. They walked in silence for a while, and she could feel him watching her from the corner of his eye. The uncertainty lingered strongly and painfully, but it could be no other way. No simple or quick words would do. Christine was still crafting what needed to be said in her mind, and it was incredibly delicate. Finally, Erik led her up a set of steps to the surface and into an underground parking garage, lit only with a few rays of sunlight that had managed to slip through the cracks. There were only two black cars in the entire dark lot. He approached one. "We're not…in the Community, right?" she asked.

"No. We are far outside of it."

"Do you have hidden cars everywhere?"

"Here and there," he replied distantly. Erik stared at her before climbing inside. "Christine—"

"Yes?"

"Never mind." He turned on the radio, and they listened to the news. Everyone was either discussing Erik's broadcast or the demise of the Community. They all questioned whether Erik's words were true. How could one man really do all this? It had to be a hoax, right? Maybe someone had become angry at Cameron and made up an entire story to destroy him. That's what some of his supporters seemed to think. If not for Erik's upcoming evidence, things could have become very complicated…and dangerous.

"Oh, well, we just got some good news," said the announcer. "It was stated earlier that Phillip Chagny was safe and back home with only minor injuries. Well, we've now gotten word that Raoul Chagny, the youngest son of Ethan Chagny, is also safe. Now—we don't know if he was ever in danger. Or if he was abroad. All of this is coming in as we speak. But we can now tell you that both brothers are safe. All right. So back to the Community. The entire place is on lockdown right now. No one gets in or out until the authorities can make sense of this. Let's go to Rick with more details—"

Once they were out of the parking garage, Christine leaned back into the seat and closed her eyes, feeling a few rays of sun come through the tinted windows and touch her skin. Her shoulders relaxed backwards. _So here I am._ There had been a moment, as she finally understood the extent of what Erik was handing her, when Christine had strongly considered obeying Erik and following Raoul. It had seemed like such a clear pathway to simplicity. But, while the authorities had also complicated matters, she hadn't been ready to make any final decisions. Erik was forcing one on her. _Again._

Her stomach was turning, her heart was pounding, and she was trying to make her mind remain practical. Her emotions were going to ruin everything if she didn't put some sense into this, and so she desperately tried to swallow them.

The announcer continued to speak. "So if we take apart that weird broadcast—we basically get a single man. And we're assuming it's a man. Um…right. So this…man-"

"They sound very confused," she said, opening her eyes.

"Yes," Erik replied. "They will not have solid evidence until I reveal my home. I will do that within days." He paused. "But clearing your name, Christine. That is what must be done by any means necessary."

She looked at her hands. "Erik, even if the government doesn't come after me…well—people will still look at me with suspicion, won't they? They won't trust me because of all that."

"They will if I reveal myself and explain what was done to you."

"You know I don't want you to turn yourself in," she murmured.

"Then what do you want?" he asked with a touch of anger.

"I'm not sure yet. It might actually depend on you. Either way, it doesn't involve you turning yourself in."

From the corner of her eye, she saw him flinch and sharply glance at her. She didn't look back; he at least owed her a little time to think. Instead, Christine stared out the tinted windows at the passing city. Some people were standing out on street corners looking uncertain and dazed, as thought they had just walked out of a dream. And yet she could already feel a newness to the world. The sun was shining brightly. Erik's pale skin was nearly white beneath it.

Erik parked in the garage that he had used previously. This time, he led her to his home through an entrance within the city, another alleyway. They climbed down together through the familiar tunnels. Her entire body felt lighter this time, the weights of most of her responsibilities removed from her shoulders.

_I did it. I really did it. I stopped the events. Raoul and Phillip are alive. _She glanced at Erik. And now…. She'd never forgive herself if she didn't try. _Hold it together, Christine._

Without a word, he fixed her an iced herbal tea once they were in the kitchen. There was a shudder in every movement, in every reach of his arm and graceful step. He came to her with pills in his hands. "These will make you drowsy," he explained. "So you may sleep. Or do you wish to talk? Or perhaps run away screaming when you realize where you are again?" He chuckled and let the pills roll off his palm and onto the tabletop. Stepping back, he widely gestured to the room with both hands. "Just look at where you have asked to be, dear. No door is locked; go where you wish. But I do not have the energy to deliver you to Chagny's house. Not right now. So if you decide to panic, you will have to deal with it by yourself until my work down here is complete."

"Erik, I know where I am." She tiredly looked at the pills. "Do you have anything for the pain that won't make me sleep?"

"Yes. But it will not be as effective."

"I'll try it." He shrugged and retrieved a smaller capsule. She took it with the tea.

"Am I to assume your decision to remain awake means you wish to speak? Do say so, Christine. Otherwise, unless you want the country to descend into another bout of chaos as the idiots attempt to figure this all out on their own, I must work."

Part of her wanted to delay. Yet she could sense him trying to get away from her. She could feel him unraveling. Her hands trembled as she took another drink. "Let's talk," she whispered.

He stared down. Then, at the slowest pace she'd ever seen Erik move, he sat in the chair across from her. The cloth mask sagged loosely on his face, making him appear very gloomy. She closed her eyes for a moment to gather herself together. She wished she'd had time to write her thoughts out, but there would never be enough time, would there? Never enough time to grow up. Christine exhaled as monstrous butterflies swirled in her stomach. She cautiously began, "Well, first, like I said—I'm not going to turn you in. I won't do that. You don't do that. Please."

He stared at her suspiciously. "Even if it is the _only_ way to clear your name?"

"Yes. Even if the government leaves me alone, people will still not like me. I'll still be the Community spokeswoman. I'll either look bad or…really, really stupid and brainwashed beyond belief."

"You are obviously not stupid," he murmured. "Such whispers may fade with time. People will forget your role in all of it. If you are in the companionship of the _hero_, you will be just fine."

"I don't know," she said, looking at the light reflecting in her tea. "I'm not sure they'll forgive or forget it. And—and I think my best chance might be to leave. Maybe disguise myself for a little while. But start over somewhere else. Where fewer people know who I am. Or care."

He was silent for a moment as though considering this. "If you truly do not want me to step in and clear you," Erik slowly began. "And I still might. That would be a possible option. But-it is no easy feat to simply go off to a foreign land by yourself. Or do you plan on asking that boy to come along?"

"I don't want to take Raoul away from his family and friends again. Not when I can't quite…well…." She looked up and gave him a half-smile. "Anyway, you did it, didn't you, Erik? Started anew in a foreign country?"

He shifted. "Yes. But the things I did initially to survive—I do not recommend them to you. And the things _you _would be expected to do might be far worse. You have not thought this through. You are—"

"Not you," she finished. "You're very right. I'm not you with all your abilities and intelligence and, well, there's really no one in the world who can do what you do. I have little formal education. No work experience. No money of my own. I'm not very street smart. It would be terrifying. But I believe I could do it. If I _had_ to."

He tilted his head. Her statement that she wasn't leaving with Raoul had forced some of the hostility from his eyes. And now he seemed to mimic her practical tone.

It was wonderful acting on both their parts.

"Are you asking me for money?" he inquired. "If so, then of course it is yours." Erik almost seemed sadly pleased with this idea, as though realizing that maybe he did have a little more to offer her. "There will be nothing asked in return. No fine print."

She was quiet for a long moment, sipping her tea. So quiet that he again prodded, "Is that what you want? Simply say so, Christine. You deserve it after everything." He was desperately trying to control his voice. They were both trying incredibly hard to stay calm, and so she took the first scary step.

"Erik," she began. "When you first said that we were leaving last night, that you were abandoning your plans, I was ready to go. And, then, when you did all that—freeing Raoul and stopping Cameron and saving me—then I was very ready to leave with you. I wasn't angry about it. Or even that afraid."

His fingers arched and pressed into the table top. "Only because of our bargains. That is why. You are a kind girl who keeps her promises."

"That's kind of true. But not quite."

"And I release you from all of that. Have I not made that clear multiple times? And yet you are here." There was that horrible crack in his voice. "Here because you pity me enough to keep me alive and out of prison, sweet girl? You will succeed, I suppose. I will finish and then leave."

"Exactly," she whispered. She slowly lifted her right hand and placed it over his left. "We both need to go. Erik, there are things I want for myself. To get a full education. Maybe to teach or find other things I'm good at. Growing up in the Community, I never got that chance. I want it very badly."

"That is fine. Perfect. I can fund your education. Anywhere you like."

She shook her head. "But I don't want your money."

He drew back and threw his hands into the air. "Then what do you want, Christine?!"

His anger startled her. With all the serenity she could muster, she said, "I'm asking for your help. I…lied again, I guess. I have another bargain."

"_What?"_

"Help me. And I'll help you."

"Help?" A choked laugh escaped him. "Help me? I will help you however you ask. But, my dear, I am quite beyond that notion."

"If that were true, Cameron Lourdes would now be one of the most powerful men in the country. And you would be standing behind him pulling the strings, wouldn't you?" He said nothing to this. "I know what you did. I saw every bit of it. And so I meant what I said earlier. I want to know you. I want to help you."

"And what exactly will you receive from this bargain?" he asked with a touch of anger. That should have been her cue that she was approaching this in the wrong way. The practical way. The cautious way, certainly. But ultimately the _wrong_ way. "What does Christine receive?"

"Your help." His anger caught her off guard, and she started to stutter a bit. "You-You're right. I probably won't end up in a very happy place if I run off by myself. So-so you can show me more of the world. How things work. Like how to drive. I need your help."

He leaned back into the chair and crossed his arms. And then Erik laughed at her in a not nice way. "After all of this, you want _my_ help in gaining your independence? _My_ help?" His eyes became icy. "No, no one could be that desperate. So what is it really, Christine?" He studied her.

"Erik, I think I could help you—"

"Yes, is that it? You _think_. Are you worried that I might go destroy something else, and you will be my conscience? I assure you that will not happen; I am done with games of politics. Or do you feel some sort of misguided responsibility for me? I am not your burden. I am not your anything."

"But we could—"

"_We _are not doing anything. If you truly desire an education and a life out of this country—I will assist you. Financially. With transportation if need be. But I am not your concern. You have saved me from prison, and that is far more than I deserve. And you have my eternal gratitude." He stood and rapidly began to move away from her. "Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to finish my work. Perhaps you need rest, and then you will have better judgment. We will organize the details of your departure later."

"Erik—"

But he left her there.

Christine moaned into her hands and closed her eyes. That hadn't gone right at all. Slowly, she stood and went to her familiar bedroom. She didn't close the door. Cocoa climbed on the bed beside her, and Christine gently stroked the cat's soft fur, finding comfort in the texture.

Deep down, she knew exactly what she'd done wrong. She was still afraid to say what really needed to be said. Erik was right. No one _was_ that desperate. He could see through her lies but had misinterpreted the truth.

_But, Erik, you nearly killed me last time. Can't you give me some simplicity until I have more time to think about all this?_

Of course he couldn't. He loved her dearly and desperately. He was ready to give her a country, and he had abandoned it for her. Nothing would ever be practical or simple about it.

And there was nothing practical about asking him to come with her to help her function like a normal human being. No wonder he'd become angry.

Christine slept. She needed sleep, probably weeks' worth of it. It was the first time she could close her eyes and know that everyone was safe for the time being. When she awoke and got up, she noticed that the doors to the back rooms with the file cabinets were all wide open. Slowly, she walked toward them and entered, the fogginess from slumber still clouding her head. Erik was on his knees and hunched over a pile of paper. The brown cloth mask was gone, and he was wearing a new black one. "What are you doing?" she cautiously asked.

"Sorting it all out," he curtly replied. "What to take. What to leave as evidence. And what to destroy."

"Can I help?"

"You do not need to."

"I want to," she said very firmly. "If I can."

He was silent for a moment, his focus on some documents. For a second, she thought Erik was just going to ignore her. Finally, he said, "The papers stacked along that wall—you can place them into boxes. Then tape them."

She gratefully nodded and went forward. Wordlessly, they worked throughout that entire morning. They labeled and sorted and collected it all together. She didn't ask about the more sinister looking papers. She just worked at his side, stopping occasionally for a snack or a glass of water or another pain pill.

"What will you do with the furniture?" she asked during a break, gazing at the sofas and decorations.

"It can be replaced," he replied. "That was a delightful piano. But I will not haul these things with me." He soon walked beneath the ceiling door. "I must go down," he said. "That is where they will find most of their evidence. Within the main system. You may come or stay."

"I'll go down," she replied. She slipped on some comfortable shoes, climbed out, and followed him through the familiar tunnel. This was the place that had started everything. The inside of the third elevator still made her shiver in memory as they stepped inside. It traveled to the bottom floor, and they stepped out. But Erik said nothing.

And so _she_ appeared.

"Hi, Erik. What can I do for you today?"

They both stared at _her._ Christine's stomach churned.

He reached a shaking hand toward her, his fingers slipping through the little particles of light that made up her hair and face. His shoulders were tense, and his eyes were pained.

"Erik," the real Christine said very softly. "She's not…me."

He glanced back at her and then toward the digital Christine.

"Why don't you just leave me alone now?" he angrily seemed to ask both of them.

"You said_: Leave me alone_," stated the digital version. "Are you trying to turn off C-2 interactions?" Erik pressed several buttons at once with a growl. She quickly faded into nothingness, forever smiling. Forever mindless.

"Erik, I—"

"Don't." Without another word, he headed toward the other systems and rapidly began to type things into the keyboards. Christine didn't know enough to help with this process, and so she merely stood back and watched him. Erik seemed to be deleting some things and ridding other documents of security walls. There were beeps and hums as billions upon billions of bytes of information were processed. Finally he looked at her.

"Come," he said. "I think you might enjoy this part."

Curious, she followed him out of the room. They rode the third elevator, and then they went to the surface, toward the theater exit. He led her to a broken window. Christine looked out. "I don't see anything," she said.

"Wait," he whispered.

And then she saw them. Blues and oranges and yellows and reds. Butterflies and hummingbirds and other beautiful creatures. All flying across the fields. They were not too packed together to draw attention but instead came more subtly in little groups. Still, it was quite a vision.

And she knew they were the fake ones-all returning home to their true master. They swarmed into the theater, many heading downwards toward the basement stairs. A few crashed into the walls and then lay uselessly on the ground, their artificial wings fluttering every so often. It was rather lovely and a little disturbing. She watched them continue to arrive for a long time.

"What will you do with them?" she softly asked as Erik looked on with her.

"I am going to destroy them. While the current administration is a billion times more benevolent than Cameron's society, this sort of technology is still far too tempting." He sighed. "I doubt I will ever find all of them. But many. The most powerful ones will self-destruct from a distance."

He quickly gathered up the insects that had already broken into his bony hands. She grabbed some as well, studying them closely for the signs that they were not real. It was amazing how difficult it was to find such signs; the creatures were near perfection. Erik finished some work in the computer room as she collected the bugs. After tirelessly continuing their massive project through the rest of the day, Christine finally stopped in the late afternoon and went to the kitchen. She warmed up some ham slices and green beans from the fridge. "Will you eat with me?" she asked, poking her head into the file cabinet rooms.

"I have far too much to do. You eat."

She didn't press and silently continued to help him after a brief meal and rest. Finally, Christine was exhausted. It was a good kind of fatigue, though. The satisfaction of a hard day's work. He nudged her shoulder as she nearly slumped over a pile of papers.

"Sleep now," he said. "You have done more than enough. I will finish the rest."

She started to protest but then nodded and stood. Before she left, Christine gazed over the room and at all they had accomplished together in a single day. Certainly, Erik had done more, but they had been a team. Still, he kept his distance, and she knew why.

The false and tentative peace was finally shattered in the morning. He could no longer take it. Neither could she.

She came out of her room, washed and dressed. A bowl of oatmeal awaited her, soft food for her damaged mouth. Erik still felt the need to make her breakfast. Slowly, she sipped the warm, sweet mixture. Erik moved in and out of the rooms at a rapid pace, grabbing items now and then for storage. Finally, he stopped and looked at her.

"We will leave this evening," he said. "The authorities will swarm in faster than the butterflies once notified."

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"_You_ are going to another safe house I keep aboveground while I finish more physical tasks. And then, unless you have changed your mind about staying with Chagny, I will find you a way out. That is still what you want, isn't it?"

"Yes," she replied.

"Then it will be done." Throwing his shoulders back, Erik started to leave. And then he didn't. He'd had enough. "Although—"

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"Erik," she said. "Please just say it."

Erik sighed and turned to face her, hands clenched at his sides. "You were so _very_ eager to escape with him weeks ago. I am sure that if you wanted to stay, the boy would walk through hell and high water to make it happen. Still, you insist. Your sudden change of mind is rather jarring, you know?"

She hesitated, letting a spoonful of oatmeal drop back into the bowl with a soft _plop_. "I was very afraid back then. I'm not now."

"So it was not love of him but hatred of me that made you run? Truly?" He shook his head. "Then why the hell are you here?"

He was pushing at her where she still wasn't ready to be pushed. "It wasn't hatred," she said evenly.

"Then what? I really want to know. Pure terror? Then still—wouldn't the FBI make better company right now?"

"Please," she whispered.

"No. _That_ is the last thing I want to know from you. If you feared me that much—to run off with and kiss and-and spend entire goddamned nights with someone you did not really love. If all that is true, then why are you here-helping me complete shady tasks that are not your concern? Saving me from arrest? I want to know why!"

"Erik, you hurt me!" she snapped as something within her finally broke. "You think only you were upset when I left, but you hurt me first! You nearly destroyed me!" Christine could still feel the anger. She'd had to push it aside as she worked to save everyone these last weeks. Her own feelings had been of very low priority, and she'd been happy to avoid them. But they were still there. Raw and painful.

"I do not know what you mean," he said. And she could tell he didn't.

She stared at her hands. "Despite that unfair arranged marriage, despite all of it, I'd come to care for you. Do you remember when we sat together at the piano? And I told you, 'slowly'?"

"How could I ever forget? That moment made your leaving all the worse. Because I believed it."

"Well, good-because I meant it. After the way I grew up, you were the most…baffling person in the entire world. And I _knew_ that something wasn't right about Cameron and the awful Community. But still I _felt_ for you. Very much. Before I knew what was happening, I was going to stay and even-even marry you. Because I didn't want to leave _you_. There was no one in the world I liked talking to more. Even back when you were the Spirit. You were so smart and interesting and artistic and…_you._" She took a moment to wipe her eyes and nose on her sleeve. And then Christine cautiously looked up. She had his full attention. And the next part wasn't very nice.

"And then—" She swallowed. "You have to promise not to get angry."

"I will not," he said shakily. Slowly, he sat across from her again, rigid in the chair. "Say what you must."

"When I found out about Anthony, I felt terrible. When I found out the rest-I nearly wanted to die! Not just because you lied to me and involved me in all that. But because I _cared_ so much about someone who was doing these things! I tried to protect you until doing so meant millions of people were going to suffer even more than they had. And even then it was awful to tell Raoul where you lived. So who was I?" she whispered. "What kind of person was I to feel so strongly for someone who was -" Her hands dropped into her lap.

"A monster," he finished. But his voice was not angry.

"You're _not_ a monster. But some of your actions were…terrible. Raoul—he was the only person that seemed to make any sense. He was calm and kind and didn't judge me. Those nights we spent together—most of the time I was just crying and trying not to go crazy. I wanted him to take me away from all the pain. I wanted to forget." She gave a short, sad laugh. "But I think I knew deep down that I wouldn't get away."

Her arms folded up protectively against her stomach. She dared to look at him. Erik appeared as lost as she was, as though he wasn't sure whether to reach for her, yell at her, or run away. "I know I was monstrous to you," he finally said. "I just did not think you ever would…." He placed his forehead into his hands. "Would stay unless I could give you something that you could obtain nowhere else. Erik was too ugly. Too wretched to have you. But the more I tried to give you, the more you hated me."

"I told you what I wanted from you."

"You did. I was an idiot not to listen. And I cannot go back now."

"No," she agreed, watching his shoulder slump. "But there is forward. And that's only because of you." She paused. "When I saw everything you did last night, I realized that I had seen something in you even way back then. What I felt-it all made sense again." She took a deep breath. "And now I know so much more about you, where you came from, that I understand other things better. You're not a mysterious magical figure."

He made a noise in the back of his throat. "No. I am certainly not magical. And I think you are the terrifying one right now."

"Me?" she asked with a sniffle-filled laugh. She looked at herself, her baggy clothes on a thin frame and her tangled hair. "Yeah, right."

"I have no idea what you are going to say. I have no control. I still do not know what you want."

"What do you want, Erik?"

His hands curled into fists. "That is not of consequence."

"Can I have some water?"

He silently rose and retrieved it. She drank from the cup and allowed the quiet to both settle them down a bit. Things could still go very wrong. "What I was trying to say earlier, when you got angry at me—well, it wasn't completely right. I _was_ trying to make you come with me. And trying to do it in the least scary possible way."

"You are still scared?" he tiredly asked.

"Yes," she admitted. "Because this isn't unconditional. I'm sorry, but it can't be."

"What is not unconditional?" he whispered. Erik still looked as though he feared she would suddenly reach out and slap him. Admittedly, there were several times Christine had wanted to do exactly that in the past weeks. But not now.

"It wasn't a lie that we could help each other; it just wasn't the entire truth." She closed her eyes. "I want...you. Because it makes _me_ happy. Because I'll never find anyone like you again in the entire world, and it'll break my heart to never see you again. I want you in my life. That's why I want us to leave together." They sat there in silence until she asked, "Don't you want to know the conditions?"

"I am not certain. Will it involve removing a hand or foot? Because if I—" He seemed to actually be in pain. "If I allow myself to understand what you are saying, I would probably do it. You are incredibly terrifying, you know?"

She laughed despite the circumstances. He had such a strange sense of humor; she hoped to see more of it. "I'm not going to ask for that."

"What are they?"

"First, and you probably already know this, I'd appreciate it if you stayed away from government." She chose her words carefully. "You don't like people enough for that. So I hope you'll use your talents elsewhere."

"I told you that you have nothing to fear as far as that is concerned. I swear to you. Even-even without you, I have no interest in it."

"I believe you." She nervously hesitated. "But here's the other one. I can't be locked up anymore. Not confined to the Community. Not hidden away in Raoul's mansion, which is where I'd end up if I stayed here. And not with you. I want to go out. And, oh gosh, I don't even know. Say buy milk and eggs without you getting upset. Or take a walk. Or maybe even take a two week vacation by myself. And I do want an education. I want a life."

They sat in an uncomfortable silence.

"And?" he finally asked.

"And what?"

"What else do you want?"

"Well, there are probably other things. But those are the important ones. The ones I can't live without."

"And then you will—" He couldn't even say it.

"Yes," she replied. Again there was silence. At first, she wondered with trepidation if he were actually contemplating her terms. But then she realized that Erik was just kind of…_stunned_. Slowly, she stood and walked over to him. Christine knelt down and wrapped her arms around his narrow shoulders. Careful of the mask, she pressed her lips to his temple. He didn't really react. "It is your decision, too," she whispered into his ear. "Whether you think I'm still what you want or need. Erik, I just hope you'll live and be very happy. You have so much to offer."

Finally, he settled a hand onto her waist and leaned his head into her shoulder. "I do not know what to do with you," he murmured. "Here you are. Here you really are, and I…do not even know what to do."

"What to do with me?"

"I love you. Looking at you and touching you and simply being around you—everything about you makes me want to stay alive. When you actually asked to come back here, I had vivid visions of not letting you go a second time. That is how awful Erik is. How I am." He waited as though expecting her to flinch away after the admission. She just leaned in closer. "I do not want to trap you. I despise your fear. But it is difficult to-" He struggled. "To love you in a simpler way. As others love. You see, I _would_ do anything that you asked for. Obviously. Kill for you—easily. Die for you, of course. And let you go; that was the most difficult."

"I know," she said after a moment, feeling her heart jump. "I'm not asking you not to love me that much. I want you with me. I want you to touch me." She felt him shiver. "And I want you to love me. But you can give me some sense of control, can't you? Or yesterday? When we worked together? We can accomplish wonderful things together. Music and -my God, Erik. You've created technology that could change the entire world. I want to be a part of watching that happen. And I want you to be a part of whatever I do."

"Yes," he whispered. "Yes, perhaps it can be like that. It is so new and odd but perhaps."

"Perhaps," she agreed.

They remained there like that for a long while, in an awkward but somehow comforting half-embrace, until Erik reluctantly said, "I suppose I must finish what I began." He paused. "After all this is revealed, they will not forgive, you know? They will not know what I look like or who I am—but they will despise me once they know it is all true. And I do not care for my sake; it is their right. But you. I wish to protect you from it."

"I'm not sure you can, Erik," she replied. "It's…okay. I'm ready for it." She touched his masked cheek before he could leave. "Can I kiss you?"

He barely moved his head in assent. Untying the strings, she removed the mask and set it to the side. Leaning in, she kissed him slowly and tenderly. And, finally, Erik responded, placing a hand on the back of her head and pulling her closer.

Then, to her surprise, he sharply pulled back and stared at her. "Can _you_ really forgive me?" he rasped with wide eyes.

"Yes." She smiled at him and cupped his right cheek. "I wouldn't be here if I couldn't. I've already started to."

Forgetting—that would take more time for both of them. And it was not good to forget yet. But she forgave with an open heart. And Erik would need that more than ever in the upcoming days.


End file.
